


The Innocence of Living

by halcyone



Category: Legacies (TV 2018)
Genre: Alaric was murdered, Alternate Universe - No Powers, F/F, Hope is just trying to paint her mom, Hope tore her ACL, Hosie, Josie suffered from a head injury, Mystery, mentions abuse, mystery au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:01:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25852543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halcyone/pseuds/halcyone
Summary: Hope Mikaelson is just trying to get home when she almost runs someone over. A brunette drenched from the pouring rain can barely construct a sentence, let alone answer all of Hope's concerned questions. Hope is left to answer the questions for herself, digging into Josie's past and uncovering secrets that should've stayed hidden. And somewhere along the way, Hope falls for the girl who just wants to sing along to Disney songs and dance in the pouring rain.OrJosie has a traumatic past, and Hope is left to pick up the pieces while also trying to fix herself.
Relationships: Hope Mikaelson/Josie Saltzman
Comments: 64
Kudos: 258





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> tw// mention of underage drinking and drug use

Hope’s teeth are chattering as her jaw quivers. She wraps the blanket tighter around her body as she squints through the thick layers of pouring rain. A 50,000 dollar luxury car, and the heater is _broken_. 

She just wants to get to her house and take a relaxing hot shower. 

God, will the rain ever let up?

Hope slows down, thinking she’ll begin to hydroplane if she goes any faster. No one else is driving in this weather and that’s a brilliant decision on their part. She’s a little worried her car will suddenly veer off the street. And at a sharp turn of the road, she yields substantially more. 

Although the second her headlights reflect off of a figure standing in the middle of the asphalt, Hope slams on her breaks as her heart rattles heavily against her sternum. The person is shivering, arms wrapped around their body, clothes clinging to their skin.

Hope rips off her blanket and stumbles out of her car. She’s immediately attacked with gallons of water and harsh winds. Her thinking is irrational, but to her its a blur of empathy and curiosity that pushes her forward. 

“Are you okay?” Hope asks, placing a hand on her shoulder and questioning if her voice carries across the short distance. 

The brunette steps back, arms grip tighter around her body. “I need food.”

“What?” Hope keeps her hands to herself this time. “Do you have somewhere I can drop you off?”

“No, I need food,” the stranger mumbles then nods once, her eyes glazed and unfocused. 

When water seeps past Hope’s coat and into her shirt, she motions to her car and offers once more, “Hop in, I can drive you home or to a friend’s house. I don’t think there are any food joints open right now. It’s pretty late.”

The girl takes a hesitant step forward, and Hope nods at her in encouragement, opening up the front passenger door. The brunette shuffles into the seat, trembling to her core as she clings to the little warmth her own body heat provides.

Hope runs to the driver’s seat, and once she’s settled in and clasps on her seatbelt, she tosses the blanket at the girl, figuring she could use it more. 

Hope tries once more, maybe the stranger just needed a minute. “We’re in Mystic Falls, Virginia. Do you have a house somewhere or maybe you wandered away from a friend’s?” 

The girl stares blankly out the window, and she murmurs, “It’s getting late. I need food.”

Hope’s nose flares, a little annoyed at the repeated phrase. Is that the _only_ sentence she knows?

Whatever, Hope is too exhausted and simply needs that shower now. She continues to drive the familiar route to her house, deciding that the girl can crash for the night before Hope drops her off somewhere.

The drive is silent, aside from the occasional sneeze that slips past the girl. Hope thinks she might be sick and becomes a little more wary of allowing her to stay the night, but nevertheless, she has cold medicine back at her house. 

Once they reach the two story house tucked at the end of a cul de sac, Hope has to lead the girl in, seeing as she lacks common sense as of right now. All of the lights are off, and it’s eerily cold in what used to be the warmest place Hope knew. For a while now, Hope has returned to an empty and lonely house.

Hope hates it.

It hasn’t been a home in a long time.

She flicks on a few of the lights and turns up the air conditioning dial, allowing the heater to kick on. Hope leads the girl upstairs to her room, finding clothes for both of them. She worries the girl might not fit into some of her clothes, seeing as the brunette is taller and a bit petite for her size. No matter, Hope hands her a large hoodie, some sweats, and a pair of socks. Giving a stranger a pair of panties is embarrassing and unsanitary, so Hope just has to deal with this girl going commando.

Hope strips off her wet coat and nods towards her bathroom. “Feel free to shower and get ready for bed. There are clean towels folded on the rack, and there should be a spare toothbrush under the sink.”

The girl’s eyes go wide, as if Hope offered something inappropriate. With an irritated sigh, Hope shows her the bathroom and points out one by one the things she’ll need to shower and brush her teeth. The brunette has the mental capacity of a five year old, and Hope simply doesn’t have the patience for it.

God, how much did this girl drink? Did she pop down some pills too?

Hope goes to the downstairs guest bathroom, relishing in being able to shower. The water immediately causes her muscles to relax, and she’s comforted by the all consuming heat. 

Today has been hell. Ryan Clarke tried to put weed inside her locker in an attempt to get her suspended, but he was dumb enough to post it to snapchat. Thankfully enough, one of his “friends” ratted him out, and the video was enough to clear Hope from any foreseen punishment. 

Furthermore, the starting middle blocker for the girl’s varsity volleyball team sprained her ankle today, meaning tomorrow’s VISAA playoff game will be difficult to win. A junior is playing in her place, Lizzie Saltzman. Hope met her just this year, seeing as last year the blonde was on junior varsity. Even though Hope is just the manager for the team, she still cares deeply for the girls and wants to see them succeed. Hopefully Lizzie will step up and give it her all. 

Hope is glad she’s at her house now though. She can rush to finish her homework, then she’ll pass out. 

After tossing on a large shirt and slipping on some volleyball spandex, she huffs at having to wear shorts, usually prancing around the house in her underwear. Hope ties her hair into two braids and goes to grab a snack before starting her school work. 

Although when she steps into the kitchen, the girl is sitting on her counter, looking wholly soft in her _Mystic Falls High School Volleyball_ hoodie and her sweats. 

Hope forgot she’s here.

“I need food,” she murmurs, clutching onto her stomach over her hoodie. 

Hope realizes the brunette’s hair is still dripping wet, and she rushes to the bathroom to grab a towel. How does she not even know how to dry her hair? And she was sneezing earlier too. She’ll actually become sick if she doesn’t properly take care of herself.

Hopping up on the counter next to her, Hope orders the girl to face away from her, and she runs the towel through her hair and rubs at her scalp, assuring that all the water will be soaked up. The brown eyed girl hums unabashedly, playing with the sleeves of her hoodie as she zones out into her own little world.

Hope briefly wonders if the girl is actually under the influence of something. She’s been fucked up before; there have been many summer days after her mom died when she decided to not feel anything at all. But this girl that seemingly only knows how to voice her necessities and lacks common sense might actually be sober. There’s no way that being inebriated strips someone down to the knowledge of a child. Even so, Hope doesn’t have the time to Nancy Drew the situation.

Hope didn’t realize it, but she zoned out too, weaving her fingers in such a way that she created two Dutch braids with the girl’s hair. She really needs sleep. 

When Hope’s stomach growls, she relents and decides cooking microwavable meals should suffice. As she places the frozen food trays into the microwave, she asks, “So, what’s your name?”

The girl shrugs, long legs dangling over the edge of the counter. “Josie.”

 _At least she’s competent enough to remember her name_ , Hope thinks. 

“I’m Hope,” she replies, leaning against the granite.

Josie nods, then says, “Hopey.”

“It’s just Hope.”

Another nod. “Hopey.”

Hope sighs, thinking over which of her friends would be willing to babysit Josie for her. She doubts Landon knows how to take care of a child, and MG is childish in nature himself. Maya is probably at Penelope’s house and Chad is at work. Jed and Kaleb are likely entertaining each other, and Rafael has his online classes on Thursday nights.

Hope is stuck with her.

She grabs the trays of fettuccine alfredo and leads them into the living room. Hope places one tray on the coffee table with a water bottle, hands Josie a fork, and turns on the tv. She flicks it to some cartoon channel and says, “I’m going to my room to start my homework. If you need anything, just knock on my door.”

Hope slurps the fettuccine noodles as she walks upstairs, and kicking open her door, she settles at her desk. She managed to do most of her homework in her free period, but she left the longer AP Lit reading and analysis for later. 

By the time she’s skimmed through 30 pages of _Heart of Darkness_ and read through chapter summaries online, her brain feels like mush inside her skull. So she leaves the rest of her work for break and lunch tomorrow, and she plays smooth jazz on her record player. 

Hope doesn’t know her father. He left when she was three, so around the time her brain finally was able to store memories. Apparently his name is Klaus Mikaelson and that he isn’t particularly a good person—the guy left her as a baby, so yeah, she can attest to that statement. 

Her mom once told her that her father was an avid painter, always trying to create new tones no one has named. Despite her father leaving, Hope wanted to be close to the man in some morbid way, so she picked up painting as a child and attended many classes and watched a myriad of videos over the course of her life. 

Hope would always question why her father left, would question if there was a deficiency in herself that caused him to leave. Her mother was always quick to shoot down those ideas, constantly showering her in love and celebrating her accomplishments in life. Hope knows her mother was proud of her, knows that she loved her in ways only a mother could. 

So her dying makes it that much harder to breathe sometimes. But Hope pushes forward nonetheless, her mother taught her how. Hope unveils the portrait that sits on the easel in the corner of her room. The painting isn’t finished yet, the curve of the jawline is too slanted and her eyes aren’t the right blend of green and brown. But unsurprisingly, Hope is painting her mother with a shining golden halo floating above her head that reflects rays of yellow hues onto her. 

It’s well into the night, around 1am, when Hope delicately smears the final touches across the canvas. She never wants to forget her mother; Hope wants to keep every minute detail crammed into her memory for the rest of her days. She’s lived seventeen years with her mother, and she’s made a few of those years eternal by simply painting them. 

Hope snorts as she signs her initials at the bottom left corner. It never ceases to bring a smile to her lips as her initials spell out _H.A.M._ Hope wonders if her mom knew they spelt out “ham” when she named her. 

Snapping a quick picture, Hope posts her painting to instagram, captioning it: “Angels do exist.” She misses the woman dearly, hoping that one day they’ll meet each other again; whether it’s in a different life or in some after life spent hidden away in the clouds.

Hope slinks down the stairs, wanting to check up on Josie one last time before she heads to bed. Although when she reaches the living room, _Courage the Cowardly Dog_ is playing and she promptly turns it off. As a child, the rather uncanny and bizarre episodes always terrified her, leaving her to run upstairs and cry in her mother’s arms. 

Who thought that show would be good for kids to watch anyways?

Hope soon realizes as she glances around that she doesn’t see the brunette anywhere. She isn’t on the couch and the kitchen is empty. There’s no way Josie would just leave, right? Does she even have the mental capacity to do so?

Frantically, Hope searches through every room, both upstairs and downstairs. She’s beginning to think Josie really did leave, but then suddenly, Hope hears a faint whimpering, like a puppy that’s lost its mother. When she circles back to the living room, there’s a ball of limbs cramped into the corner of the room.

Josie is quivering. Tears stream down her face as she tries to hold back sobs. Hope kneels before her, concern etched into her features. She doesn’t know Josie’s boundaries and is a little worried that touching her will freak her out more, but she grasps the left side of her face anyway. Hope strokes her thumb gently across her cheekbone and exaggerates her own breathing. 

As she inhales deeply and exhales slowly, Hope guides Josie through her breathing, aiding her in calming down. Josie eventually settles, arms still wrapped around her knees. Hope stands up, offering her own hand while saying, “Come on. You can sleep in my bed tonight.”

Josie clutches onto her—a complete stranger—as if Hope can provide her the solace she needs. Hope leads her to her room, and Josie crawls under her comforter and buries herself into the sheets and pillows. Hope sighs and rubs at her tired eyes. Tomorrow is Friday, which means at least two tests and spending the rest of her afternoon crammed into the school’s gymnasium. 

Turning off the light, Hope slips into dreamland. 

At least that’s what she wanted to happen.

Josie shimmies over to Hope’s side of the bed and throws a leg over her waist. Hope groans, pushing away the brunette. She tosses two pillows between them, effectively creating a barrier. It’s one thing to have a stranger sleeping in your bed, but it’s an entirely other thing to _cuddle_ with them.

Josie whines in disagreement, and the moonlight that seeps through her curtains illuminates the small pout on the girl’s lips. Hope almost caves but opts to scowl instead and turn her back to Josie. 

The brunette shuffles once more but settles curled against the barrier of pillows. When Hope hears soft snores escape from the other girl, she finally decides to pass out, not looking forward to waking up in the morning.

Her mom visits her in her dreams, and Hope feels the loneliness ebb away.

* * *

Waking up is a bitch.

Hope groans frustratedly when her phone blares annoyingly. She blindly reaches for her nightstand, grasping her cellular device and shutting it off. Burying her face further in the pillow, she slips back into the fuzziness of sleeping. 

Although what feels like a minute later, someone is tugging at the sleeve of her shirt. “What!” Hope growls slapping away their hand. 

“Hopey, your alarm is going off.”

Hope opens her eyes and is met with worried deep brown irises and rosy lips. The second the haze recedes from her mind, Hope scoots back, having completely forgotten that the brunette crashed for the night.

“Are you sober now?” Hope’s voice is rough in the morning, sounding like sandpaper. She rubs the weariness from her eyes and stretches out her cramped limbs. She has an affinity for curling up in a ball when she sleeps, so her muscles are always sore in the morning. “Do you have a hangover?” 

“What?” Josie bites at her lip and scrunches her face adorably. 

Hope tenses, sitting straighter, and she takes a clear look at Josie, searching for any sign of deceit or trickery. Then it clicks in Hope’s head; there really is something wrong with the level of mentality Josie possesses. 

“Uhm,” Hope’s pulse quickens, a bout of anxiety raking through her chest as she thinks of what to do. “I’ll make us some breakfast and you can drink some water. You’re probably dehydrated from crying last night.”

Hope walks out of her room, blood rushing through her head and momentarily blurring her vision, but then Josie pulls at the hem of her shirt. “I—” the brunette huffs, a furrow to her brows as she struggles with her words. “My… my head hurts.”

“I’ll grab you an ice pack and some water,” Hope tells her and points downstairs. “Come on, I’ll drop you off home afterwards.” 

Hope tosses waffles in the toaster and heats up a pan to cook some eggs. “Hey Josie,” she motions towards a cupboard, “Grab a mug from there and you can fill it with water at the fridge.” 

When Josie reaches up, she mutters, “Ouch, ouch, ouch.” Hope turns in confusion, watching as Josie sounds pained as she stretches up her right hand.

“What’s wrong?” Hope asks her, and Josie simply shrugs at her but hisses out another “ _ouch_.”

Exasperated, Hope cautiously tugs down the collar of Josie’s borrowed hoodie. She gasps when she sees the purple bruising and discolored skin lining the girl’s shoulder, and upon further inspection, the joint is raised at an awkward angle. After being the sports manager for the boy’s football team and the girl’s volleyball team, she knows a thing or two about popping in a dislocated shoulder.

Hope quickly plates the eggs and waffle before they burn and grabs two gel ice packs from the freezer. As Hope instructs Josie to lie on her back on the couch, she’s concerned for how the brunette got injured. Did she fall on her shoulder and head? Does she have a concussion too?

“I’m going to pop your shoulder back in,” Hope tells her, pointing to the area. 

Josie sits up and pushes herself further in the couch. “No. It hurts.”

“And it’ll keep on hurting if I don’t put it back in its socket.” Hope huffs, crossing her arms at Josie’s petulance. 

“No.” Josie shakes her head, not trusting Hope to help her.

“You’ll die if you don’t.” Hope deadpans, lying to the girl. 

Josie gapes and her eyes glaze over with tears. Guilt floods Hope, and she kneels in front of Josie, placing her hands on her knees. “I was kidding. You won’t die, it was a joke.”

“Oh.” Josie relaxes then lets out gentle giggles, amused at the joke. The sound stirring something in Hope’s chest. 

After popping Josie’s shoulder back in place, Hope places an ice pack on both her head and shoulder. She then gives the girl her breakfast and water and runs upstairs to prepare for school. It’s a blur of changing clothes, dabbing and lining makeup, packing her small backpack, and shoveling breakfast into her mouth.

As she pulls on her coat, Hope shoots a text to Landon. 

**[7:32am] Hope:** hey, have you heard about any missing person’s reports lately?

 **[7:32am] Lan:** should i be concerned?

 **[7:33am] Hope:** just answer the question jfc

 **[7:33am] Lan:** geez, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed

 **[7:33am] Lan:** but i haven’t seen anything on the news. if i do, i’ll tell you

Hope has known Landon since freshman year, and there’s never a day that he doesn’t get on her nerves. She likes his company and hanging out with him—he sometimes fills the void in her chest—but he can be annoying without even trying. 

Grabbing her school necessities, Hope also bags Josie’s wet clothes from last night. It would’ve been smart to do the laundry, but Hope’s rational thinking went out the window last night. When she goes to find the brunette, Josie is humming to herself while still eating her breakfast. 

Hope sits on the armrest of the couch, slumping forward as she’s still a little tired. “Alright Josie, where do you live?”

Josie bites her lip, shaking her head. “I don’t have a house.”

Hope frowns, looking at the stranger curiously. “What do you mean? Did you run away? Are you foster homed?”

“I—” she clutches at her head, whimpering. Josie whispers softly as she looks behind Hope, seeing something Hope can’t, “I don’t know. I just don’t have a home.”

Hope is at a loss, not knowing what to do with the girl. She should call child protective services, but if Josie is running away from an abusive household, would that be a smart decision for the girl’s safety and well being? Maybe Josie was kicked out?

Hope runs a hand through her hair, thinking through her options. But with a quick glance at her phone, she realizes she’ll be late for her first period if she doesn’t leave right now. Hope exhales, skimming through her decisions in her head. “I need to head to school, but if you need anything just call me.”

The auburn haired girl scribbles down her phone number on a sticky note and places it near her home phone. “You can borrow more of my clothes if you want to change, and when you get hungry, there’s more food in the freezer. I’ll check up on you after school.”

-

Hope is sitting in her first period, AP Psychology, scribbling down notes while searching up information on her phone. Mr. Young drones on about the information on his slide shows, and it gives Hope the time to scavenge the internet and social media platforms.

On google, she’s explored every web page she could find on missing persons reports, and all over twitter she’s tried to find any information about shady happenings in Virginia. Nothing pops out, and Hope hasn’t found a single picture of Josie’s face. She should really ask what the brunette’s last name is, maybe she’ll find her social medias.

As she scrolls through twitter once more, a notification pops up on her screen.

 **[8:47am] MG Boy Wonder:** y ru thinking so hard? it’s only the three levels of moral development lmao

Hope glances up and sees MG grinning at her, and she rolls her eyes with a smile. 

**[8:47am] Hope:** hey, have you heard of any recent kidnaps or maybe runaway teenagers?

MG creases his brows and squints at her. 

**[8:48am] MG Boy Wonder:** y? planning on running away? 

**[8:49am] Hope:** runaway from my two story house and dead mother? yeah, definitely

MG rubs at the back of his neck, smiling sheepishly, and Hope throws up the middle finger. She’s known him since sophomore year, and he was one of the few people to console her when her mother died last summer. To think he would remember that much. 

**[8:52am] MG Boy Wonder:** sorry hope, i wasn’t thinking. i’ll definitely look out for any news about that in Mystic Falls tho

Hope leaves him on read and finishes the rest of her notes. With any luck, she’ll be able to find local rumors through her friends. Teenagers talk a lot, something will eventually circulate back to her if she asks.

It isn’t until lunch that Hope receives a call from Josie. She’s huddled between Maya and Rafael inside the cafeteria, but even so, the air freezes them to the bone. They were talking about the volleyball game this afternoon and mindlessly chattered about tv shows and music awards. When her phone buzzes, the word _Home_ flashing across it, Hope excuses herself from them and walks into the hallway.

It feels like she just stepped into a freezer.

Answering the call, Hope blurts out, “Are you okay?”

“Hopey!” Josie greets, giggling happily. “Can I eat the sandwich in the fridge?”

“Yeah, go for it,” Hope hums and wraps her arms around her torso, attempting to keep out the cold. “Do you need anything else?”

“Oh uhm,” there’s rustling in the background before Josie replies, “I’m okay. Do you need anything?”

Hope snorts at Josie repeating the question. “I’m okay too. I should be back in another three hours. Call if you need something else.”

Josie sniffs, and Hope wonders if she is catching a cold. “Goodbye, Hopey.”

Hope ends the call and—

“BOO!”

She screeches and back hands the person behind her. Landon bursts out into laughter, clutching at his stomach and howling. Hope glares at him, grunting out a “fuck you.”

Hope tries to walk away but Landon wraps his arms around her, forcing her into a hug. He lifts her off the ground and twirls them for a second, and she can’t hold back the laugh that bubbles out of her.

“Let me down, Lan!” she shrieks, slapping at his shoulder.

“Okay, okay,” he smiles shamelessly and lets her go while Hope rolls her eyes. “Who were you talking to by the way?”

“Does it matter?” Hope bites out, feeling her defenses rise. 

“Sorry,” Landon mutters, holding his hands up in surrender. He looks like a kicked puppy.

Hope is saved by the end of lunch bell, and she’s quick to walk to her next period. Lately there’s been a tension coming from Landon, and Hope isn’t quite ready to unfold whatever it is. Her mom wanted her to experience at least one totally epic love, and somehow, she thinks that isn’t going to be Landon.

* * *

By the time Hope drives to her house from school, her right knee is irritated and aching. Every now and then, the joint will feel inflamed and shoot out bursts of pain, especially in colder seasons. That’s what Hope gets for tearing her ACL junior year and effectively ending her volleyball career.

When she gets to her house, she announces, “I’m back!”

The first thing Hope notices is that its like the Antarctic in there. She expected to be comforted by the heater, but it’s just as cold inside as it is outside. Cranking up the temperature, Hope calls out, “Josie?”

When Hope wanders into the living room, she represses the urge to laugh. Josie is wrapped under multiple layers of blankets, sitting on the carpeted floor and swaying to whatever Disney movie song is playing. Hope vaguely recognizes the movie as _Tangled_.

“When will my life begin,” Josie’s voice is melodious as she sings along. 

Hope is a little stunned by the smoothness of the brunette’s tone and her control. She plops down next to the girl but Josie wasn’t paying attention, so she yelps in surprise and rolls away in her burrito. Hope chortles when Josie runs into the wall, and the brunette pouts at her. “That’s mean!”

The blue eyed girl sticks her tongue out. “I didn’t even do anything.”

“You scared me!” Josie struggles to pull her arm out but eventually points an accusing finger at Hope.

“Fine,” Hope shrugs and fixes her features into indifference, standing up. “I’ll leave then.”

“NO! Hopey!” Josie tussles with the blankets, stumbling to her feet. There’s still a navy blue sheet draping from her shoulders, but she surges forward and engulfs Hope into a hug. Hope tenses up, not expecting the hug and she carefully pushes them apart. She ignores the guilt that flushes through her chest when a pained expression creases Josie’s face. 

Hope bites her lip when her knee throbs, but the side of her lip quirks a bit when she sees that one of Josie’s braids are undone, leaving half of her hair wavy and the other still trapped in a plait. Hope motions to the kitchen, limping slightly and keeping the pressure off of her right knee. “Sit on the counter, I’ll do your hair again.”

Hope goes to grab another ice pack from the freezer but remembers she never put back the ice packs in, so she opts for a frozen bag of peas. 

“Bleh, are we eating peas?” Josie scowls, leaning away from Hope. She shakes her head amusedly in return, sitting next to Josie and icing her knee. 

“No, I’m using it to ice my knee,” Hope replies and undoes the other braid. She runs her fingers through Josie’s waves, splitting apart any tangles. The brunette hums unashamed and fiddles with her fingers, pulling at the skin around her nails. 

“Why?”

Hope tugs the dark locks into a half-up, half-down hairdo; it’ll keep Josie’s hair out of her eyes but still showcase the wavy hair from the braids. “Because sometimes it hurts.” Hope leans back on her arms, exhaling softly.

“Why?”

“Because I tore my ACL,” she mumbles, suppressing any memories of the day it happened. 

“Did it hurt?”

Hope whistles low. “Like a bitch.”

Josie pouts in response, and Hope is beginning to hate seeing her like that. The brunette’s head dip downs and she kisses the top of the peas. Hope raises a brow at the action but understands the childish sentiment. Josie is… different, and Hope is still trying to figure out if that’s a good or bad thing.

“Do you want to eat out?” Hope asks and glances at her phone for the time. “I have another three hours before I need to head back to school for the volleyball game.”

Josie shrugs but mutters under her breath, “Ouch.”

“Shoulder still hurts?”

Josie nods furiously, emphasizing her pain. Hope gives her two ibuprofen before they toss on jackets to keep warm for when they go out. When Hope pulls on a beanie, Josie eyes the accessory and Hope hands her a cream one. Josie shakes her head, refusing the item but still stares blatantly at Hope’s royal blue one. With a sigh, Hope concedes and switches the beanies, giving the other one to the girl. Josie lets out a delighted giggle, and the blue eyed girl is a little glad for her decision. 

Knowing a car ride is the prime time for gathering information, Hope asks while they cruise around streets, “Do you have any siblings?”

“One.” Josie nods, staring out the window. 

“What are they like?”

Josie hums thoughtfully, “She’s funny and likes watching The Lord of the Rings.” After a short pause, the brunette happily humming to the song on the radio, she continues, “But her brain is bad… er no, not bad, but- but _messy_.”

Hope nods, following along with Josie’s explanation. “How about your parents?”

Josie shakes her head adamantly, refusing to answer. She wants to know more, wants to question if they’re alive or if they’re abusive to her, but Hope refrains from doing so and avoids forcing the taller girl to talk. 

Hope pulls into the parking lot of a Denny’s and asks one more question, “How old are you?”

Josie rubs the sleeves of her jacket. “Seventeen.”

Hope accepts the answer and they go inside and are seated at a booth. Josie orders a coffee without much thought and Hope opts for a chocolate shake. 

They look over the menus, Josie mumbling the names of each dish under her breath. Hope just looks at the brunette, having so many questions to ask, but she doesn’t want their meal to feel like an interrogation.

They order once their drinks arrive, and everything is going okay but...

Josie confuses salt for sugar and almost dumps a shit ton of it in her coffee, but Hope saves her from that catastrophe, quickly moving the mug out of the way. Her face scrunches in disdain at having to clean all of the salt grains.

“ _Hey_ ,” Josie whines in protest, and Hope peels the salt shaker from her hand.

Hope shakes her head, mirth written all over her smile. “The salt is in the smaller container, while the sugar is in those pink packets. If you can’t tell the difference, it’s always smart to taste it first.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” Hope chuckles lightly.

They finish eating after half an hour, Hope only learning trivial things about the younger girl. Apparently Josie is a vegetarian and likes to play the ukulele. She also has a bit of a green thumb, knowing quite a lot about flowers and their symbolism.

Hope is about to call a waiter over for their check, but Josie begins whispering something to herself. She’s about to ask her what’s wrong, but the brunette hitting her head with her fist, like a sort of punishment.

Josie repeatedly degrades herself, mumbling over and over, “I’m a bad sister. I’m a bad sister. I’m a bad sister.”

“Hey, hey,” Hope slides into Josie’s side of the booth. She coaxes the girl’s hands away from her face and holds them. “Whatever is going on, you can’t hurt yourself. It won’t make anything better.”

“But I’m a bad sister,” Josie whispers like a secret. 

Hope bites her lip. “Come on, let’s go back to my house. We’ll do something fun, maybe even watch Tangled again.”

Josie nods timidly, then murmurs, “I like Mulan more.”

Hope grins at her. “Even better.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know some are concerned considering Josie is being portrayed as a little helpless. I promise she won’t be like this for the entire fic and will become more independent. If in any of my future writing you find something to be ignorant or inaccurate, please give me a heads up so I can edit it. Thank you, and I hope you all continue to enjoy my work.

Hope spends the few hours before the volleyball game with Josie. They paint each other’s nails and mess around with oil paints. 

Josie finger paints flowers on small canvases while listing off the facts of them. Apparently orchids are one of the oldest flower plants known to man, and white orchids specifically represent innocence, and well, _hope_.

Hope hasn’t heard Josie string together this many sentences before. It’s like she picked out facts from a botany book and recited them word for word. 

“Roses are overrated,” Josie mumbles, accidentally wiping orange onto her forehead when she brushes away a piece of hair. “Everyone goes for them because they mean _love_. Tulips and carnations can also stand for love.” 

Hope snorts, a little in awe but she’ll never admit that. “You’d have a field day at a flower shop.”

Josie pauses, her mouth falling open the slightest. She whispers softly, “I like flower shops.”

At one point, Josie begins to smear paint onto Hope, dotting her cheeks with yellow and brushing green onto the side of her neck. She was annoyed at first—oil paints shouldn’t be wasted—but Josie’s delighted squeals when she retaliated sends her into a fit of laughter.

Eventually they clean up, Josie placing the canvases in the kitchen to dry. Scrubbing off the paint is more difficult than expected, but they manage to look presentable enough for being seen in public. 

Hope is a little wary of bringing Josie to the game. She doesn’t want to leave her at the house, seeing as she already left her alone for a while, but she’s not sure how big crowds will affect the brunette. 

If anything, she can ask MG to chill with her for a bit somewhere outside the gym. He’s always quick to help and is one of the most compassionate people she knows. He is also least likely to bombard her with questions about who Josie is and why she’s with Hope.

She sends him a text as a head’s up.

**[5:56pm] Hope:** you’re coming to the game, right? 

**[5:58pm] MG Boy Wonder:** wouldn’t miss it, h

**[5:59pm] Hope:** wouldn’t miss the chance to see Lizzie in spandex

**[6:02pm] MG Boy Wonder:** hey! i’m a supportive friend who watches his friends’ games

Hope chuckles, loving to mess with her friend. She understands the appeal of girls in spandex though; there’s no judgement.

**[6:02pm] Hope:** keep on telling yourself that. 

**[6:02pm] Hope:** anyway, i’m going to introduce you to someone, and you’ll have to not leave her for the rest of the night. ok, great, thx

She shuts off her phone, not wanting to give MG the space to decline.

Josie keeps wearing Hope’s volleyball sweater, so she opts to wear one of her Mystic Falls long sleeves. The wind still cuts through her and chills her entire body, but she chooses to ignore it, knowing the gym will be slightly warmer.

Hope is still frustrated with her car heater being out of commission and silently reminds herself to send it to the mechanic sometime over the weekend. She gives the blanket to Josie, knowing she’ll appreciate the sentiment. After seeing Josie wrapped into a blanket burrito, Hope can only assume that they provide her comfort.

Before they leave the car, Hope assures that Josie understands what’ll happen the next few hours, explaining that she’ll have to stay with MG while Hope is with the team. Josie agrees easily, pulling at the strings of her hoodie.

The second they enter the gym, Hope relaxes at the familiar surroundings. The sheen of wooden floors and the glare of bright lights fill her with a sense of ease. MG is near the bottom of the bleachers next to Rafael and Chad. The introductions are short and Josie slips into conversation with the boys, usually giving vague responses and partially struggling to articulate words. 

Hope remembers to mention, “If you really need me for something, walk _around_ the lines.” 

If Josie walked onto the court during the game, Hope just might have a stroke. 

“I know, Hopey.” Josie nods quickly, still tugging at the strings of her hoodie. “My sister plays volleyball.”

“Oh.” Hope is a little surprised. Volleyball isn’t exactly an unpopular sport, but she didn’t expect to have that in common with Josie’s sister. “Well that’s good.”

When she walks to the team, Penelope and Maya rush to her with carefree smiles and bright eyes. Maya holds out her hand, and Hope does the series of fist bumps, arm slides, and pinkie interlocking that consists of their handshake they created freshman year. 

“I can’t believe you two still do that.” Penelope rolls her eyes, hiding her amusement behind a steel exterior. 

“Don’t be jealous.” Maya hip checks her. “It’s a libero thing.”

Penelope snorts, a witty remark lost on her tongue when she sees something behind Hope.

“Is that Josie?” Penelope points at the bleachers. “Isn’t she a Stallion? What’s she doing at our game?”

Penelope knows her? Maybe she can coax out some information from her later.

“Everyone hates the team we’re playing,” Maya shrugs, not caring. “It’s not that far fetched.”

“I think I met her last year at a party,” Penelope says, still eyeing the brunette across the gym. “She was hanging around Lizzie and some other blonde from Salvatore.”

Their conversation is cut short when Coach Williams blows his whistle. With an odd amount of players on the team, Hope helps one of the girls warm up, her passing still impeccable. Although when the ball is hit too far to the right, she hesitates and doesn’t dive to the side, watching the ball drop. 

Hope always thinks she’s one dive away from blowing out her knee.

When she realizes Lizzie isn’t going to show up for the volleyball game, she texts MG and asks him if he knows where the blonde is, considering he has a massive crush on her and usually knows her whereabouts. 

He defends himself, saying he doesn’t stalk the girl, but he assures her that he’ll ask a few of the juniors he knows from the football team.

Coach Williams and a few of the other girls become uneasy, too. They send several messages and even go as far to call Lizzie, and when someone mentions that she wasn’t in school today, Coach grumbles about his players needing to give him a head’s up.

And even when MG texts her back, he has nothing to offer about her location either. He was clueless—they all were.

“I’m going to talk to Josie,” Penelope says, already walking away.

“Wait!” Hope grabs onto her wrist and pulls her friend back to her. “You can’t talk to her.”

“ _What?_ ” Penelope rips her hand away, not liking being told no.

“Please,” Hope implores, eyes wide and feeling panic rise to her throat. “I’ll explain after the game, but you can’t.”

Penelope looks her over, trying to understand the importance of Hope’s words. When she realizes Hope is more than a little stressed out, she nods her head and doesn’t confront Josie.

The next few hours is a blur of pep talks, writing stats, and looking over at Josie and MG. Every time their team gains a point, Josie jumps out of her seat, following the lead of the guys and shouting. Hope isn’t sure if Josie understands the logistics of the game, but the girl is being carefree right now so she doesn’t dwell.

They win the match in five sets, erupting the gym into echoing cheers. After the victory speeches and clothing changes, Hope is dragged away behind the gym. Maya and Penelope stand before her, arms crossed and gazes unwavering. The lack of heat cuts through Hope, flushing her cheeks and clouding her breath.

Having them double team her is slightly unnerving, but Hope keeps her features indifferent. 

“Why can’t I talk to Josie?” Penelope breaks the silence, scrutinizing Hope as if she had done something immoral. 

“Look, the other day I ran into Josie, but she was… different?” Hope doesn’t know how to explain it, doesn’t know how they’ll react. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Hope bites her lip, flexing and unflexing her fists. “It means the girl can barely construct a sentence and has trouble with fulfilling her basic needs. I also figured out she had a dislocated shoulder this morning.”

“Wait, wait,” Penelope pinches the bridge of her nose and tugs her scarf tighter around her neck. “What does this have to do with her being here?”

Hope grows timid, shrinking in front of them. She feels like a child who has done something wrong but doesn’t know why. “I’ve been letting her stay at my house because she keeps on insisting she doesn’t have a home, and she doesn’t have basic understanding over some things.”

Maya raises her voice, on the cusp of lecturing Hope. “She could have suffered from a brain injury! If she was hurt, something obviously went down before you met her.”

Hope shrugs, feeling so utterly small. She whispers, “I wasn’t thinking.”

Maya towers over her, features hardened. “And you didn’t think to call Child Protective Services, have you?”

“What if she was kicked out or ran away?” Hope threads her fingers through her hair, hesitation circulating through her like blood.

“That’s what CPS is for, Hope!”

The moon glistens over them and wind lashes their skin. A shiver cracks through her spine, causing her back to ache. “It’s late,” Hope murmurs, looking just past their eyes. “I’ll let her stay the night then I’ll call them tomorrow. I promise.”

“ _Hope._ ” Maya’s lips harshly curl around her name, not wanting this conversation to end.

“Bye!” Hope backs away, moving towards the gym doors. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow!”

“Wait,” Penelope stops her, rushing forward. She envelopes Hope in her arms and squeezes tightly. “You can talk to us. I know you have MG and Landon, but we’re here for you. Get home safely, okay? I’ll call tomorrow.”

Hope smiles, grasping back tighter before letting go. She looks over to Maya, but the girl’s arms are still crossed, exterior closed off. 

Hope’s smile falters. She supposes Maya’s attitude is warranted.

When Penelope catches onto the tension, she deadpans, “No head for a week if you don’t support your friend right now.”

Hope holds back her laughter and watches as Maya gawks. 

“I’m sorry for being petty,” Maya mumbles, throwing her arms over Hope’s shoulders. “I feel as if you should know better, you know? But like Pen said, we’re here for you.”

She should know better. Josie’s safety is important.

Hope melts into the hug. “Thank you. I’m here for the both of you too.”

-

Hope finds Josie with MG sitting by the front doors. He’s talking about Green Lantern while she nods enthusiastically, a glint in her eyes. 

Hope nods towards the parking lot. “Let’s go, Josie. It’s getting late.”

“Okie, Hopey,” Josie says then turns to MG. “Bye MG.”

MG holds out his hand for a fist bump, but Josie holds his fist and shakes it like a hand shake. Hope chuckles at the brunette’s confusion, and MG explains, “It’s a fist bump, girl. You hold out your fist and we press them together.”

MG holds up a fist to Hope, and she connects them and pulls away into a jellyfish motion. “Jellyfish,” Hope says cheekily, and Josie eyes light up.

MG gives her a blank stare. 

“Jellyfish!” Josie repeats, holding out her fist. MG fist bumps her, and the girl wiggles her fingers like a jellyfish. He sighs, the action reminding her of an exasperated parent.

“Come on, Jellyfish,” Hope motions to the parking lot once more. “I’m hungry and want to paint.” 

On their way back to Hope’s house, Josie asks an unexpected question. “Why did not you play in the game?”

Hope shrugs, biting her lip. “I’m only the manager for the team.”

“But I saw you earlier,” Josie scrunched her face, unaware of the damage she’s bringing up. “You were really good.”

Hope sighs, unconsciously rubbing her knee. “I hurt my knee, remember?”

“Is not it better now?” 

Hope snorts at Josie’s lack of knowledge with grammar contractions.

An ingenuous expression is creased into Josie’s features, a small pout and curious eyes. 

“It was a serious injury, Josie.” Hope tries to keep the bitter tone out of her words, but she hates talking about it, hates thinking about it even more. “I can’t risk hurting it again.”

It’s her senior year, and she’s completely out of shape. Even if she wanted to rejoin the team, she wouldn’t be up to par. The sport is fast paced enough as is, and her reflexes aren’t as sharp as they used to be. Playing is completely out of the question.

“Do not you love playing though?”

Does she? Her mom introduced the sport to her, saying she played during high school too. Hope played because she wanted to be closer to her mom, but now that she’s gone, Hope stays attached to the sport and its community.

“I do,” says Hope out of habit, “but it’s not everything, you know?” She fiddles with the radio, not liking the random country song that started playing. “I wasn’t interested in going pro, and besides, they don’t particularly accept 5’2” liberos.”

Josie giggles softly. “You are pretty short.”

Hope gapes, “I’m not _that_ short.”

Josie shrugs with a lilt to her lips, like she wants to say something else cheeky. 

“I’m _not_ ,” Hope argues with a pout.

“You are cute,” Josie shrugs, looking out the window.

Hope almost swerves.

Yup, definitely a good driver.

No bad driving here. Mhmm.

Certainly staying within the perfectly _straight_ lines of the road.

Hope manages to get them back to her house safely. It’s a miracle, really.

It’s drizzling outside, but it’s not the harsh downpour that made it difficult to drive the other night. Hope collects her stuff, ready to book it inside because she doesn’t park her car in the garage, but Josie has other ideas.

The brunette exits the car and stands in the street. The rain is light and feels cool against her face. The water capers across her skin, dripping where it pleases.

Josie just wants to dance in it.

She kicks up the water with her shoes and spins around. It soaks into her clothes and drenches her hair, but she doesn’t care as she continues to twirl. Her arms move freely, bending and waving to their own tune. 

It hurts to lift her arms, hurts every time she sits up straight—an ache buried deep within her chest flares every time she stretches. The pain feels worse after jumping from her seat several times, but she shuts it out.

She moves fluidly, not caring about anything besides the way the rain makes her feel.

“Josie!” Hope calls from inside the car. “What’re you doing! You’ll get sick!”

She ignores the older girl, continuing to careen through the street. Her shoes squeak against the wet asphalt, and Josie stomps happily in a nearby puddle. A squeal flows past her lips, and everything feels right.

But then Hope is running to her, muttering under her breath about catching a cold. “Let’s go back inside. I’m freezing.”

Josie ignores Hope’s words and grabs her hands, swinging them side to side before twirling Hope around. She yelps at the movement, grasping onto the brunette’s biceps to steady herself. 

Why is Josie so thin?

Grabbing onto Josie’s wrist, Hope guides them into the house. “I’ll make us some dinner after we shower, and I’ll put something on from Disney Plus.”

Hope once more provides Josie with a hoodie and sweats, knowing she can get cold easily. Although she opts for a long sleeve and shorts herself. 

The heat of the shower is comforting after being in the cold rain. Hope honestly doesn’t know what Josie was thinking when she decided to _play_ in it. Instead of lingering on Josie’s starry-eyed mentality, Hope begins to worry about Lizzie. 

The blonde was eager to play as a starter, and not contacting their coach seems unlike her. It’s unlike any of the team, really, seeing as they’d have to run lines if they didn’t give Coach Williams a heads up about their lack of attendance. 

Hope thinks there’s more to the story. Mystic Falls is a small town, and if Lizzie was simply sick, someone would’ve known she was at home sick. Maybe someone could contact her parents? She thinks her dad is the principal at Salvatore, but it doesn’t make sense for him to send his daughter to a different school than the one he works out.

There’s something there that needs to be looked into, and Hope’s not sure what she’ll find. 

After changing her clothes and drying her hair, Hope finds Josie curled on her bed with her eyes screwed shut and a frown painted on her face. Her hair is still wet, and she somehow looks small in her hoodie. Hope sits next to her, the mattress sinking the slightest.

Hope sighs softly, running her hand through Josie’s wet tangles. “What’s wrong?”

“Headache and chest hurts,” she mumbles, inching closer to Hope.

“Do you want to sleep it off?” Hope begins fluffing the pillows and moving around the blankets. “I was planning on cooking stir fry, but it might help if you rest.”

“Can you sing?”

Hope chokes on air from the request, coughing into her shirt and sputtering.

Sing? 

Her singing consists of shouting lyrics, not actually following tone and pitch. 

“I can play some music…?” Hope offers an alternative. She doesn’t want to put Josie through the catastrophe that would be her singing. “Jazz can be calming.”

Liking listening to jazz can be an acquired taste. Hope herself used to not listen to it, but her mom introduced it to her once, telling her that she lived in New Orleans for some time. 

“Okay,” she agrees, nestling into the covers.

Hope puts on a playlist through her speakers and lets the music flow softly around her room. Before allowing Josie to sleep, she dries her hair and ties two loose braids. 

-

The rest of Hope’s night consists of cooking, texting Landon about how he shouldn’t be playing Pokémon Go while driving, and watching Cutthroat Kitchen. She meant to offer Josie some food, but she was already out cold when she checked up on her.

It isn’t until Hope is tucked into the corner of her room with a fresh canvas that she permits herself to think about Maya’s words. Hope wants to know what Josie is running from. Being outside in the middle of the night while it’s pouring rain? And being injured no less. 

Someone as tender and mellow as Josie being left to fend for herself.

Hope looks over Josie’s small form, snuggled into blankets with a crease between her brows. What the hell happened to her?

Dislocating a shoulder is a nasty injury, one that requires a lot of force to happen. Was it an act of clumsiness or did someone inflict it?

Josie mentioned her chest hurts. Is it an emotional pain or a physical one? Maybe Hope can ask her about it in the morning, maybe even look at the area for evidence of literal damage. 

It makes her sick, makes her stomach churn just thinking about any harm to her being intentional. 

Hope finds herself painting something aside from her mother that night. Murky hues of gray and dark blues and deep violets blend together. She barely dabbles into the foreground before calling it a night at around 1am. 

After doing her nightly routine, she goes to dive under the covers, but Josie is spread across the middle of the mattress, taking up the entirety of the bed. Hope sighs, collapsing onto the end of it. It’s her own bed and she barely has space.

She’s shorter in comparison to Josie, but still.

Hope is seconds away from falling asleep, but her phone rings, lighting up a photo of her and Rafael at the skatepark. The taller boy is holding onto her waist while she tries to balance on a skateboard. 

Hope has never tried to skateboard since that day. 

She answers the phone, trying to clear away the grogginess by sitting up. “Hi Raf. Is everything alright?”

“Uh, hey Hope,” he sounds exhausted, and her heart aches for him. He’s struggled through too much in his lifetime. “Can I crash for the night? I can’t be here right now.”

“Of course,” Hope says while her eyes droop. Jazz music still lulls through her room. “The house key is still under the flower pot outside, and there’s stir fry in the fridge—feel free to eat as much as you want.”

The house may feel lonely and the walls may be the only things she speaks to sometimes, but it’s uncommon for the house to actually be empty. Even before her mom died, Hayley always opened her house to Hope’s friends, welcoming them under her roof no matter the reason. Sleepovers are an often occurrence through her high school years.

Being a foster kid is an unfortunate reality of Rafael’s life. The system can be a cruel series of moving and anguish, so he’s slept over too many times to count. He only ever treats Hope with kindness, and they always have a fun time playing Little Big Planet. It’s not a popular game, but Hope only has a PS3 compared to her other guy friends who have Xbox Ones and PS4s. 

She contemplates going downstairs to greet him, but she can barely keep her eyes open. Wrapping the comforter tighter around her body, sleep comes easily to her. 

-

“Hopey,” Josie whispers, her voice hoarse. 

She sniffs and rubs at her eyes. It’s too dark, barely any moonlight filtering through the closed curtains. The corners of the rooms are black hues, and they make her feel unsettled, like someone will jump out from the shadows.

The jazz music has stopped playing, and her pulse continues to rise. “Hopey, there are monsters under the bed.”

Hope haphazardly swats her away. “Go back to bed, Josie.”

A chill shoots up her spine, and tears pool around her eyes once more. She’s terrified and she hates it. She fears _he’ll_ storm into the room any minute and _scream_ at her for leaving the house.

But she had to leave the house, Lizzie told her to leave the house. 

Where is Lizzie?

When her vision blurs and warmth rushes down her cheeks, she wipes her tears with the sleeve of her hoodie (Hope’s hoodie). Apprehension crashes through her, and she’s finding it difficult to breathe. 

Josie tugs at Hope’s sleeve, jostling her awake. “The monsters hate me.”

Hope can’t tell if these _monsters_ are representations of real people in Josie’s life, and she would be lying if she said it didn’t upset her.

“What?” Hope stretches her limbs, trying to blink away the fog that lingers in her mind. She checks her phone, discovering it’s only four in the morning. Who wakes up this early?

Josie is trembling beside her, practically choking on her own inhales. Hope is flooded with concern, grabbing one of Josie’s hands and massaging her knuckles. 

“My room is monster proof,” Hope supplies, giving Josie the time to calm down. “Nothing can hurt you here.” 

Josie sobs, unable to stop herself. Panic swells in her chest, and her entire body feels like it’s trying to rip itself apart. 

Hope’s senses are still dull as she tries to focus on Josie. It’s far too early for her brain to function, but she concentrates on trying to calm the younger girl’s breathing. After Josie manages to properly breathe, she pulls the covers over both of their heads and opens her phone to allow for low lighting.

The light reflects off of Josie’s irises, and Hope swears she can see stars twinkling within them.

She needs more sleep. 

“This is our own little fort,” Hope yawns, nuzzling into a pillow. “No monsters will touch you here.”

Josie nods, remaining silent. Hope sighs, wanting to do more for her.

Hope is almost asleep once more when Josie breaks their quiet bubble.

She mumbles a little dejectedly, “Sorry, Hopey.”

Hope shrugs her shoulders, smiling softly. “Don’t apologize for feeling things, Josie. You’re allowed to cry.”

Josie bites her lip, a little disbelieving of Hope’s words. “G’morning, G’night, Hopey.”

“Good morning, Goodnight, Josie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love reading your comments. they brighten my day :)
> 
> @halcyone on twitter


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was supposed to be up yesterday, but sorry for the delay. hope you enjoy
> 
> tw// mentions abuse , mental spiral

Surprisingly, Hope wakes up earlier than Josie at ten. She knows she’ll eventually have to call CPS today, but she decides to let the girl sleep in. Besides, she has a few errands to run, like getting her heater fixed.

When she ends up going downstairs to cook something, her stomach growling at her, Hope jumps back and squeaks. 

“Hey Hope,” Rafael greets, sitting on Hope’s couch while using the tv to play _Little Big Planet_. 

Hope forgot he came over last night, so seeing him throws her off. “Morning, Raf.” She plops down next to him and steals his controller with mild protest, finishing the level for him.

“I could’ve finished it myself,” Raf smiles, grabbing the controller back. 

Hope smirks, mischief lingering in her irises. “Keep on telling yourself that. I’m going to make some breakfast. Craving anything in particular?”

Her friend is quick to jump to his feet. “I’ll help, and uh, I’ll never refuse a plate of your hash browns.”

Hope chuckles while sorting through the ingredients and cutlery. Her hash browns are pretty damn good. “How long are you staying?”

“Only until noon.” They work as a cohesive unit to cook breakfast. “Sneaking out never ends well for me.”

“I’m sorry, Raf,” Hope frowns while peeling the potatoes. She hates that the best people are always dealt the shittiest cards in life.

“No apologizing, remember?” He manages to shred the potatoes without grating his hand. 

“I know, but…” Hope huffs, combing a hand through her hair. “I wish things were better.”

A sadness creeps into his smile when he bumps their shoulders. “Me too.”

“Hopey?” 

Hope looks up, finding Josie standing in the doorway. Her hoodie is hiked up, covering her nose and mouth with the collar like her face is cold. 

“Good morning, Josie,” Hope greets and bites her lip nervously, not exactly sure how to introduce the two. 

“G’morning, g’night,” Josie replies, tugging the hoodie from her face. The action reminds Hope of a turtle’s head peeking out from its shell. 

Rafael lifts a brow at her words, but Hope can only shrug in response. “Raf, this is Josie. She’s been staying over for a bit. And Josie, this is Rafael, a close friend of mine.”

“Hello,” she murmurs, waving her hand awkwardly. 

Rafael squints at the girl, almost scrutinizing her. “I think I met you at a party once. You’re friends with Lizzie, right?” 

“Friends, yes,” Josie nods vigorously, almost nervously. 

Hope narrows her eyes, wanting to pry. There’s something _there_ , something Hope wants to find out about. 

“I can play a movie for you,” Hope offers, motioning to the tv. “Breakfast will be done in a bit.”

Josie claps happily to no one in particular and wraps blankets around herself from the couch, returning to her blanket burrito. Hope’s lips quirk the slightest at the sight.

She knows Rafael has questions, she has many of them herself, but she instead focuses on cooking. What bothers her though is that Josie does in fact know who Lizzie is. Penelope mentioned it yesterday, and Rafael can attest to it too. 

What’s even more of a big red warning sign is that Josie was insistent on getting the _friend_ point across.

She feels like a million questions are circulating through her head. Maybe she needs to put up a murder board. 

For breakfast, they sit around the kitchen island, talking casually about trivial things, but Josie practically serves as the physical representation of an elephant in the room because of her switch in mentality since Rafael last met her.

Josie continues her streak of inexplicit answers, never delving too far into details. She hides a lot of her past for being someone who shares her personality and thoughts so freely. 

After they finish eating, Rafael washes the dishes while Hope dries them with a towel. Although with slippery hands, she drops a ceramic plate, the crash screeches against her eardrums. A profanity slips past her lips as she goes to clean it up, but what the older girl doesn’t notice is the way Josie panics, crouching down and covering her face with her hands, preparing for pain to swell across her skin. 

Josie eventually settles when she realizes she isn’t in danger, but there’s still anxiety that lingers in the corner of her mind, waiting for the throbbing sting. Of course Hope doesn’t notice that either, only aware of the ceramic shards she needs to clean up.

Rafael eventually returns to his house, but before leaving, he tells Hope, “I know it’s not my place to talk about it, but years in the foster care system make it easier to pick up on certain signs.”

“Certain signs?” Hope crosses her arms, spine tensing. She doesn’t like where this is leading to.

“Josie flinched and hid when you dropped a plate,” Rafael points out, rubbing the nape of his neck. “People don’t duck and cover when one plate breaks. Abuse and neglect happen more often than people like to admit.”

Hope bites her lip. “I just hate to think that it could be true.”

“I know Hope,” he reaches forward and wraps her into a hug. “I’m going to head out, but take care of yourself, okay?”

She nods into his chest before watching him walk down the street and out of the neighborhood. It’s unsettling knowing what he’ll return to, the neglect and gaslighting that await him. At least he has Landon, but even then…

Hope sighs, plopping down onto the couch next to Josie. She pulls a pillow to her chest and tucks her chin against it. 

“What is wrong, Hopey?” Josie pouts, able to see Hope’s distress.

“I’m fine,” Hope brushes her off, mindlessly watching the Princess and the Frog.

“I don’t like when people lie to me,” Josie clenches her jaw, sculpted eyebrows scrunching. 

“Oh yeah?” Hope’s eyes narrow at Josie, tone becoming sharp. “Then who’s Lizzie Saltzman to you?”

Hope doesn’t know why she wants to pick a fight, but her muscles jump, uncomfortable at the thought of someone calling her a liar. 

She’s _not_ a liar, and she’s perfectly _fine_.

Josie understands passive aggressiveness, understands an underlying threat and the inevitable sting that will leave tears in her eyes for hours. So her body reacts in the same way it has for months, she ducks her head, raises her hands to cover her face, and creates as much space between them as she can. She whispers, “ _Please_.”

Hope freezes and tension blooms in her chest because Rafael _was right_. All of the fire that swelled in her stomach a few seconds ago is now smothered as she takes in Josie’s fear. 

“I’m-” Hope wants to reach out, wants to comfort her, but she stays put, refusing to lay a hand on the brunette. She murmurs softly, “I’m not going to hurt you, and I’m sorry for raising my voice.”

Josie skeptically turns to her when she realizes she’s not going to be hit. Hope’s eyes, which normally remind her of blue skies, are dark and stormy. She’s a little in awe of how they can change tone, but she decides she doesn’t like the look on Hope’s face. 

She seems sad compared to when she was angry before, and Josie is a little confused at the emotional shift. She tugs the blank tighter around her shoulders and says, “It is okay to not be fine.”

Hope looks at Josie, genuinely looks at her, but the brunette’s focus is on the tv. People, more specifically her mom and friends, always insisted that same sentiment, that it was okay to not be okay. But Hope never wanted to admit that she wasn’t fine because if she _did_ , then that acknowledges the presence of a problem.

And Hope has a handful of problems she’d rather ignore. 

They sit in silence, Hope deciding that she’ll drop off her car to the mechanic then call CPS when she comes home. The past few days with Josie have been different, but Hope is a little scared to say goodbye because she has no way of seeing Josie after she leaves. 

Maybe it’s better that way because once she’s gone, Hope’s life will go back to normal. 

“Who is Freya?” Josie asks, breaking through the silence. 

Hope’s heart stutters and she feels like she’s choking on air. Memories filter through her head of blonde hair and green eyes and perpetual frowns. Then there’s a flash of a small toddler giggling sweetly, and she forces herself to forget. “How do you know that name?”

Josie nods to herself and rubs the sleeves of her hoodie together. “A woman called yesterday. You were at school. She wanted you to call her back.”

“Thank you for telling me,” Hope murmurs, returning her attention to Tiana and Naveen. She ignores the memories that claw through her mind, ignores the months she spent in New Orleans after her ACL tore. It’s a little difficult when the movie she’s watching is set in New Orleans and plays a jazz song every ten minutes.

She won’t call them back. She won’t call _any of them_ back. 

“Who is she?” Josie continues, not realizing that Hope wanted a subject change. 

Hope shifts uncomfortably. “My aunt. Can we not talk about this?”

“Oh okay.” Josie hums along to another song.

-

Hope raises a brow when MG rolls down his window and pulls up to the curb. “Is that a knitted sweater?”

“Don’t disrespect the drip.” MG holds a hand against his chest, faking offense. “My Nana Imogen knitted this for me.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Hope raises her hands in mock surrender before plopping into the front seat. “I just think this is the first time I’ve seen you wear one.”

MG shrugs, driving towards Hope’s house. “It’s the first time I’ve worn one outside of my house. During Christmas, I always wear the holiday ones Nana gifts me with.”

Hope forgot the holidays are coming up soon. It’ll be another year without her mom, but she’ll likely spend it at Penelope’s house. She invited her last year, but Hope spent the first semester of junior year in New Orleans, away from all of her friends. 

“Thank you for picking me up by the way.” Hope dropped her car off at the mechanic but then remembered she didn’t have a ride back. So she had to text MG last minute, and he was more than happy to help. 

“Of course! Anything for Hope Mikaelson.” His grin lights up his entire face, and Hope easily returns the smile. She hates her last name, hates that it isn’t Marshall. She contemplated changing it a few times, but something would always stop her. 

The Mikaelsons aren’t her family. Her father left her, and her aunts and uncles decided that they had some type of claim over her once her mother passed. They forced her to stay in New Orleans which made her ACL recovery process even more difficult. 

What was worse was that her own father didn’t even show up. His siblings took her in and cared for her, but he didn’t even come to see her _once_.

The car ride is a blend of listening to music and talking about random life stories. They’re roughly five minutes away from her house when her phone bings thrice in succession. 

**[10:52am] Lan:** hope!

**[10:52am] Lan:** hope!!!!

**[10:52am] Lan:** turn on the local news

**[10:53am] Hope:** i’m in the car rn. what’s wrong?

**[10:53am] Lan:** elizabeth saltzman’s father, principal saltzman at salvatore high was murdered during a home invasion

Hope’s heart drops, concerned for Lizzie. Is that why she wasn’t at school yesterday? She bites her lip, praying to Mother Nature that the blonde is okay. 

**[10:54am] Lan:** they say there’s no current suspect information, but you know the girl right? isn’t she on the volleyball team?

**[10:55am] Hope:** yeah, she is. it explains why she was absent yesterday. god, is she ok?

Hope glances over at MG who is rapping a verse while tapping on his steering wheel. The boy will be heartbroken if anything happens to her.

**[10:55am] Lan:** there’s currently a missing persons report circulating around for her

Hope runs a hand through her hair, upset at the world, upset at why this is happening in the first place. 

**[10:56am] Lan:** there’s a conspiracy theory that elizabeth had a fraternal twin who attended salvatore high but they pretended they weren’t related

**[10:57am] Hope:** don’t throw around rumors about the deceased and missing, lan

Hope shuts off her phone, throwing it on the dash. The information was too much for Hope to process. Lizzie is god knows where, potentially hurt, and is now parentless. And- and she has a fraternal twin...?

Hope immediately thinks of Josie. They knew each other, multiple of her friends can confirm that much, and Josie’s sister plays _volleyball_ of all things. And it can’t be a coincidence that the night before all of this happened, Hope ran into a hurt and hungry brunette in the middle of the street. 

“Hope?” MG asks. Hope perks up at her name, taking in that they’re parked in front of her driveway. “Why the long face?”

Hope inhales sharply before telling him, “Lizzie is missing and her father was murdered.”

It’s quiet for a long moment. MG’s face circles through surprise, unsettled confusion, and eventually morphs into an upset frown. Hope doesn’t even notice that she was holding her breath until MG speaks up. “Who told you this?”

Hope remembers to breathe, taking a second to find her stride of inhales and exhales. “Landon told me. He said it’s on the news right now.”

His eyes become glossy, and Hope wonders if he’s going to cry. “Do you want to come inside for a bit?” she offers. 

“Nah,” MG forces a smile, dragging his palms against his jeans. “I gotta get home. Hit me up if you need anything else.”

Hope thanks him once more, giving him a sad smile before exiting the car. She calls out to Josie when she enters her house, wanting to question her further about who Lizzie is to her. But as she looks through every room, she once more can’t find the brunette anywhere. 

It isn’t until she chances the garage, which also serves as a makeshift gallery, that Hope finally finds her. Although Josie is sat on the floor with a canvas in her lap and is _ruining_ one of Hope’s portraits of her mother.

Infuriation explodes through her bones and gathers at her tongue. “What the _hell_ are you doing?”

She rips away the canvas from Josie’s clutches, and tears well in her eyes at the disgusting layer of neon hues. 

“I-” Josie stutters, and she can clearly see the rage that swirls through Hope’s eyes and curls into her fists. The girl crumples into herself, forcing her limbs together and _begging_ , “Please.”

Hope is taken aback by the sight, seeing Josie look so utterly vulnerable and _scared_. She storms away, frustrated tears freeing themselves onto her cheeks as she locks herself in her room. She paces the room, grabbing at her skull and feeling like it’s trying to split in two. 

_It’s ruined_. 

Her art is one of the few things that keeps her connected with her mother, but Josie had to go and mess it up.

She’s upset about her mom being gone, she’s upset that her aunts still care about her no matter how far she pushes them away, she’s upset that Josie doesn’t understand.

Her brain feels like it’s tearing itself apart and breaking her skull in the process. She hates that it still hurts to think about her mother.

She loathes that drunk driver that smashed into her on the freeway. 

Hope is spiraling, and everything feels so utterly chaotic that she needs something to stabilize it. 

The neon on the painting looks like color vomit surrounding her mom’s head, and there are blobs of muddled brown in the corners. Hope hurls her painting from yesterday at the wall, scuffing the wallpaper. She places the ruined one on her easel, scanning it over and over again, trying to figure out how to fix it.

She cusses when her brain decides that it _can’t_ be fixed. Hope pulls out her paints anyways, embitterly mixing together the soft hues. But in her haze, she accidentally mixes together the wrong colors, recreating the muddled brown Josie swiped onto the painting. 

She wants to scream.

Hope blasts jazz music in a desperate attempt to calm her blur of overwhelming emotions, but the music is grating to her ears, further annoying her. She dives onto her bed, pulling a pillow over her head. She wants her mattress to swallow her and make her forget the tension in her heart. 

-

Hope manages to fix it, and it looks _better_ ; and she wants to hate Josie for it. 

But she can’t. 

Not a single part of her could hate the brunette, and the thought is a little terrifying to her. She chooses to ignore that and snaps a photo of the new creation. She doesn’t post it; it wouldn’t feel right to, not after what happened between her and Josie. 

Instead of the grays and dark shadows that melted into the background, bright flower petals swirl around her mother like a windy day spent in a flower field. The muddled browns mix in with a dark sunset, and the contrast is sharp but accentuates Hayley’s features. 

It’s around four in the afternoon, and Hope’s stomach growls impatiently at her. She knows she’ll have to go down and talk to Josie, but she’s a little hesitant to. Twice today Josie has thought she was going to be harmed, and Hope has to be more aware of what triggers Josie. 

Yelling at her is obviously one of them, so she needs to rein in her temper. 

Hope finds Josie in the kitchen with a pot on the stove and boxed macaroni and cheese on the counter. She’s trying (and failing) to light the stove, fiddling with the nob. 

Hope stands a few feet away and interrupts her. “Hey Josie.” The girl stops all movements and only looks at Hope when she asks. “Uhm, can we talk?”

Josie looks unsure, afraid that Hope will… well, hurt her and be upset. She nods slowly, hoping dearly that she won’t accidentally agitate the older girl. 

Hope swallows the lump in her throat before speaking. “I want to apologize for yelling at you and being _rough_. I just don’t like people touching my art, but I should’ve told you beforehand. I’m sorry.”

Josie understands the regret lingering in ocean irises and accepts her remorse. So she nods and says, “It’s okie, Hopey.”

Hope frowns at her wording. “It’s not okay. It was impulsive of me to lash out, and I shouldn’t let my anger control me.”

Josie pouts, thinking of _another_ way to accept Hope’s apology with her limited vocabulary. “I-” she exhales frustratedly as she stumbles over the word. “I forgive.”

Then Josie is once more pulling Hope into a hug, and this time, this time Hope melts into it, allowing the chocolate eyed girl to hold her close. She loosely wraps her arms around Josie while Josie attempts to hold in the wince that threatens to leave her lips. 

There’s a familiar burn in her shoulder as she throws her arms around Hope, and her ribs sting at the movement. Josie wonders if the aching will be permanent, but she doesn’t care though, not right now when she’s this close to Hope at least.

Something about Hope is warm—warm in the comforting and safe sense. She can breathe a little easier when the blue eyed girl is around. It just feels _right_. It’s similar to the solace that only Lizzie can provide her. 

Where is Lizzie?

Hope is the first to break away, still a little fuzzy from the hug, but then her stomach rumbles unhappily. She’s a little embarrassed by that bodily function, but Josie only giggles sweetly and says, “Hopey needs food.”

“Yeah,” Hope agrees, ducking her head because Josie is looking at her intensely. She doesn’t really understand what Josie is seeing right now. “But instead of cooking crummy mac n’ cheese. I can take you to a good vegetarian place I know.”

Josie vigorously nods in agreeance, and a laugh bubbles out of Hope without her realizing it. 

Josie’s smile only grows, and she almost reaches out to touch Hope’s face but decides that her shoulder is too sore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tell me what you think :)
> 
> and how many spaces do you like between paragraphs for future reference
> 
> @_halcyone on twitter if you want to know when i update


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Innocence of Living definitely incorporates a lot of fluff, but as hinted in the summary, there are more grim scenes to come in future chapters.

Josie actually differentiates between the sugar and salt this time, and Hope can’t help but be a little amused. They’re sitting at a booth towards the corner of the restaurant, and the brunette mixes a pink packet of sugar into her coffee. 

Hope is beginning to think Josie really likes coffee when she downs her mug before their vegan pizza even arrives. Hope teases her about it, and Josie pouts at her, mumbling that it tastes like heaven in a cup. 

Hope wonders if she’d like coffee cake.

It isn’t until they’re splitting their pizza and Josie is disregarding the pizza crust that Hope finally decides to voice her concern. “What’s your last name, Josie?”

Josie isn’t fazed by the question, continuing to eat her food. “It is Parker.”

Hope’s face pinches, a little confused. “So it’s not Saltzman?”

Josie grows rigid, mouth still half open as she’s about to bite her slice. She purses her lips, then murmurs, “No, I am not a Saltzman.”

Hope’s mouth turns down, wondering if Josie is lying about her identity. She’ll search for Josie Parker on social media later. “But Lizzie is your sister.”

“I-” Josie tugs at her hoodie strings. “I am not supposed to talk about it.” 

Is someone trying to keep her quiet?

Hope bites the inside of her cheek before pressing forward. “What happened the night we met? Why were you in the rain alone?”

“I was not alone. I was-” Josie frustratedly rubs her temples, an upset tilt to her features. “Something bad happened. We had to leave.”

Hope’s gaze is imploring, begging Josie for answers that she can’t give. She swore to never tell. “Who’s we?”

Josie crumples into herself, bringing her knees to her chest and leaning further into the booth. “I don’t know where Lizzie is.”

Hope takes that as enough of an answer, understanding that Josie has secrets she needs to stay hidden. Josie may not understand a lot, but she completely comprehends the need for self-preservation. And there are certain things she needs to remember because if she _forgets_ , there are always painful consequences.

Coaxing the conversation away from Josie, Hope begins, “Do you know why I live by myself?”

Josie slowly shakes her head, eyes outlining Hope’s soft facial features and her ocean eyes. Hope inhales shakily, thinking over her words before continuing, “I don’t really know my father. He left when I was three, so for the longest time, it was just me and my mom. But last summer…” Hope takes a moment to breathe. “Last summer, my mom died, I tore my ACL, and was shipped off to New Orleans for five months with a family I barely knew.”

Josie feels a coldness lingering through her fingertips at the somberness of their conversation. Hope is opening up to her, but there’s an emptiness in her gaze, seeming sad and detached. Josie knows the feeling, having experienced it for the past year.

Hope plays with the necklaces dangling in front of her throat, collecting her thoughts. “My point is, families can be messy, and I understand not wanting to share about them.”

Josie shakes her head, picking at a piece of pizza once more. “Can we go for a walk?”

They have at least two more hours before sunset, so Hope smiles and looks at Josie adoringly. “Yeah, we can do that.”

-

Josie dances in puddles every time they pass one, and Hope always has to take a step back to avoid the splash zone. She’s unaware of Josie’s effect on her, knowing that she feels light and bubbly but refusing to consider that it has anything to do with the brunette. 

_It’s the food_ , she thinks to herself mindlessly. Good food always leads to a happy Hope. 

The part of her that can only be described as foolishly starstruck by the brunette is likely the same part of her that decides she can push off calling CPS for one more day because it’s almost night time, and she’s a little tired.

Wind howls past them and cuts through their clothes, but they don’t mind the cold weather, not when they’re practically skipping through the streets. 

Oranges and pinks bleed into blue skies, and Hope loses herself into the sight, memorizing the way the colors blend and contrast. There’s a soft glow to Josie’s skin, and every time she meets her eyes, they’re gleaming a warm honey color. It shouldn’t be legal to look this _warm_.

“Hopey!” Josie squeaks, grabbing Hope’s hand and tugging her towards the picket fence of someone’s house. A golden retriever is lounging in the front yard, licking at a rubber toy. “I think I am in love,” she’s in complete awe as she mumbles innocently.

The golden retriever bounds over at the sight of them, its tongue lolling out. Josie reaches out, petting the dog’s head and running her thumb along its snout. Hope catches a glimpse of the name tag and reads: _Chewbacca_.

It always has to be _Star Wars_ , huh. 

She tugs Hope closer, telling her, “Show doggie love too.”

It’s then that Hope realizes something is _off center_ within herself because a few days ago, she’d roll her eyes and pull Josie away. But now- now Hope is petting a stranger’s dog behind its ear while giggling with Josie like there’s an ongoing inside joke between them.

Hope finds herself pulling away after a moment because there’s an odd tightness to her stomach that almost resembles butterflies, and that… that shouldn’t be happening. So she shoves her hands in her pockets, assuring that Josie can’t randomly reach out and hold them. She forces herself to forget the way their fingers easily intertwine, and nods down the street, telling Josie it’s time to go.

They walk back home, seeing as Hope’s car isn’t ready for pickup until tomorrow. It’s a forty minute walk which only feels long when they fall silent and are left to listen to rustling leaves and chirping birds. They turn into Hope’s neighborhood when Josie asks with a far away look in her eyes, “Do you think… do you think people have a reason to be born?”

“If this is a question of fate, then I can’t give you a universally correct answer,” Hope shrugs, dragging the toe of her shoe against damp concrete. “People live and they die. There doesn’t have to be an ulterior reason for it.”

“Well that is stupid,” Josie scoffs.

“Okay, then why do you think people are born?”

“To grow like flowers,” Josie hums like it’s the simplest question with an easy answer. “We start as seeds. Grow tall and bloom. S- spread poll-” A beat passes as she frowns, stumbling over the word. “Spread pollen and help other plants grow. Then die and come back again.”

“Come back again?”

“Mhhmm, flower roots live through cold,” Josie states, trying to open the door but frowning when she can’t, “then come back in the spring.”

Hope nudges her out of the way, unlocking the door first before opening it. Josie gapes at her like she performed a magic trick. They change into comfier clothes and collapse onto her living room couch almost like it’s routine.

As Josie settles sideways on the couch, allowing for her body to stretch, she winces at the pressure gripping her ribs and leaving her lower chest feeling like it’s searing on top of a grill. Of course Hope notices this and asks what’s wrong, but Josie ignores the question and reaches for the remote. 

Hope moves the remote out of the brunette’s reach and questions, “Where does it hurt?”

“My ribs,” Josie pouts, sitting up and stealing the remote from the other side of Hope. She’s leaning over the older girl, their faces inches apart, and Hope’s breath catches in her throat, forcing herself to not breathe while they’re this close. Hope could just lean forward, and-

Her phone rings from where it was tossed on the coffee table. Josie retreats back to the other side of the couch, and she flicks through the array of Disney productions and eventually chooses _Maleficent_. 

“Her cheekbones are unmatched.” Josie marvels over Angelina Jolie’s features.

Hope snorts then grabs her phone, immediately sending the caller to voicemail. Freya can wait until tomorrow, right now, she just wants to relax. After spending most of the day brooding, she needs to just feel okay for a bit.

About halfway through the movie when Aurora is in the forest being circled by water fairies, Josie shifts her position and suddenly her head is resting on Hope’s lap. The older girl doesn’t know what to do; this isn’t a new position considering Penelope and Maya have nestled into her before, but it’s _Josie_. And Hope can’t explain why it’s different with her, but it just _is_. 

After a moment of hesitation, she runs her hand through Josie’s waves, appreciating the silky texture beneath her fingertips. Josie hums in admiration, and there’s a sort of serenity that encases them, gentle and calm. 

It isn’t until about five minutes later, Josie removes all attention from the tv and looks up at Hope. The blue eyed girl glances down, noticing how intently Josie is watching her. Then the younger girl reaches up, fingers capering across her collarbone before tracing her necklaces. “Where did you get them?” she asks softly.

Hope, unable to handle Josie’s intense gaze, returns to watching the tv and answers her, “The crescent moon is a reminder of my mom. She told me many tales of the moon and stars when I was younger. The wishbone is a symbol too, meaning I can’t rely on wishes and destiny. It’s a reminder that all my actions are my own and that I don’t follow some predestined plan.”

“What about the _M_?”

Hope bites the inside of her cheek. “Well, my last name is Mikaelson.”

“Who gave it to you?”

Hope sighs, murmuring, “My Auntie Bex.” She got the necklace last year, and for the longest time, it stayed hidden at the bottom of her desk drawer. She doesn’t have a reason why she started wearing it, or maybe she does. Maybe the Mikaelson family has taken up a small part of her heart, but she won’t admit that.

“And the chains?”

Hope snorts. “The chains don’t have meanings.”

“That is boring.” Josie’s brows furrow as she tugs at the chains.

Hope gently coaxes Josie’s hand away and grins at her with an eyebrow raised. “You give the chains a meaning then.”

“They are the base,” says Josie, reaching up to comb her fingers through auburn locks. “They let- they let the necklaces stand out.”

“So like the support?” Hope glances down once more, and Josie’s eyes are twinkling, glinting from the one table lamp that’s on. 

“You are beautiful,” Josie mumbles, ignoring Hope’s question as her gaze drags over prominent features and natural beauty. “Angelina Jolie could never.”

Hope bursts out into laughter, her lungs struggling to gather oxygen. Her face is flushed as blood pools at her cheeks. 

Josie looks at her utterly confused.

-

Hope wakes to the ending credits of Hercules. 

She feels significantly colder than earlier. Her living room is dark, the glow of the television barely illuminating her surroundings. When she stands up, blood rushes to her head, dotting her vision with onyx and crimson hues. 

Her lips downturn when she doesn’t see Josie nearby. She’s suddenly aware of her heart thumping, like it’s quick cadence is signaling a warning into her sternum. 

Finding her phone stuck between two cushions, it displays 11:43PM on her lock screen, which happens to be a photo of her and her mom on a picnic date. There are about a handful of texts from Landon, a few from Penelope, and two missed calls from Freya. 

Ignoring them all, Hope searches for Josie, looking in all of the downstairs rooms before heading upstairs and still finding nothing. Her stomach drops as she calls out with a hoarse crack, “Josie!”

All that returns to her is silence, and she’s reminded of the months she spent talking to the walls, utterly alone. 

Hope checks her backyard, but the patio and gazebo are empty, not a single trace of life. It isn’t until she walks onto her front porch and turns on the lights that she finally finds the younger girl leaning against a pine tree in her front lawn. 

Her breath condenses into mist, and a shiver cracks through her spine. Despite the cold temperature, she sits beside Josie, tucking her knees to her chest. “Why’re you out here? Is everything okay?”

Josie disregards the question, leaning her head on Hope’s shoulder. “Your linnaea borealis. They only- they grow in summer. But yours are still alive. I do not understand.” 

Hope glances at her flower pots that decorate her porch. “Which ones are those?” Hope only knows the popular flowers, like roses, tulips, orchids, etc. She was previously unaware of her—linae? Linear boreal?—flowers.

“The twins,” Josie replies with a languid nod, appearing rather tired. 

Hope still doesn’t know what flowers those are but hums in agreement anyway. She stifles a yawn, “You’re sleepy. We should go inside.”

“You are tired too,” Josie murmurs back, nuzzling her face into the crook of the blue-eyed girl’s neck. She tenses at their proximity. Goosebumps litter her arms for reasons aside from the cold that blankets them. 

“That’s true,” Hope agrees, watching the crescent moon that looks down on them. “But I also don’t want you to get sick from being in the cold for too long.” 

“Hold me,” Josie requests as she sighs. “Please?”

Hope doesn’t protest, encircling her arms around a slim waist. Her arms are a little taut at first, as she overthinks the small action. Eventually, as she listens to the calm breathing patterns of the brunette, tense muscles loosen and she no longer holds her breath. 

She’s a little concerned that Josie hasn’t been eating correctly before they met, as if she skipped several meals throughout the week. Her bones slightly protrude in areas they shouldn’t, so Hope wants to ensure that the mocha-eyed girl continues to eat nutritious meals. 

When Josie sneezes on Hope’s long sleeve, she decides they’ve been outside for long enough and need to return to the comfort of a room and bed. “Come on,” Hope coaxes gently. “Let’s avoid catching a cold.”

“Piggy?” Josie asks innocently. An image of a pig standing on two legs with a blue vest and yellow necktie flashes through Hope’s mind, and she thinks it’s a byproduct of her sleepy state. 

“What piggy?” Hope looks around rather clueless. Is she missing something?

“No.” Josie’s tongue pokes out as she thinks of the proper words. “Piggy on back.” 

“Oh!” A lightbulb goes off in Hope’s head. “Do you mean a piggy back ride?”

Josie nods fiercely, a grin plastered on her face. She makes happy grabby hands, signaling for Hope to pick her up. 

Hope contemplates it for a second. Her knee can only handle so much weight before it cramps and buckles under her. 

The puppy dog eyes Josie flashes her with squashes any form of hesitation. “Fine, but only to the stairs,” Hope compromises, her lips curling upwards. 

For someone fatigued, Josie clambers to her feet quickly and jumps onto Hope’s back. Josie is actually lighter than expected, which is a little startling, but she can’t dwell on that because the girl on her back points to the front door, saying, “Let us go, piggy!”

“What did you say?” Hope pretends to mishear. “Let you go? All right. If you say so.”

“Hopey no-” Loosening her grip on Josie’s thighs, the younger girl squeals as she slips down Hope’s back and mentally prepares to fall. At the last second, Hope pulls Josie back up to her original position, laughing at the brunette.

Josie pouts, whining in complaint. “You are mean.”

“And you’re cute.” Hope lets the words slip as she walks them into the house, stumbling as she tries to see through the dark. Instead of going to the staircase, they stop inside the kitchen and Hope puts Josie down onto the counter.

“Why are we here?” Josie asks, leaning back against a cupboard while barely keeping her eyes open. 

Hope rummages through the freezer for a second before pulling out two ice packs. “You still need to ice your shoulder,” Hope reminds her, pressing one onto the joint. 

“Will it always hurt?” Josie asks shyly, a little scared at the thought. She doesn’t want to feel this way forever. She can’t dance freely in the rain if her arm won’t lift properly.

“An injury like yours will only last about a week,” Hope states easily, and Josie’s face lights up at the given timeline. “But… can you lift your hoodie for me?”

Josie frowns, scooting further into the cupboard. She doesn’t like the idea of showing her body, hating the way it looks. “No,” she shakes her head resolutely. 

Hope is quick to assure her. “I’m not going to do anything inappropriate. I just need to check your ribs to see if they’re bruised.”

“They are fine.” Josie is stubborn as she refuses. 

“You said they hurt earlier.” Hope repeats the girl’s words. 

“ _No._ ”

Hope sighs, annoyed that Josie is being stubborn. She almost forcefully checks her ribs, but she’s reminded of a time when she was around eleven. Her mom sat her down on the couch and talked with her about personal boundaries. They have to respect others’ wishes when it comes to their body. 

She inhales deeply, reigning in any negative emotions. Her temper isn’t exactly easy to control—Landon can attest to that—but hurting Josie, whether physically or mentally isn’t something Hope ever wants to do. 

So she thinks of a better solution.

“I want you to feel safe and comfortable,” Hope tells her, looking into mocha irises. “So I won’t force you to do anything. But it’s important that you stay healthy and that you’re treated when you’re hurt.”

“I do not- I do not want you to see.” Josie looks away, feeling entirely too small and vulnerable. 

“And that’s completely okay,” Hope reassures with a small smile. “But if your ribs start to hurt again, put this ice pack on them.”

Josie nods, taking the second ice pack and cradling it under her chest. 

Hope shifts the conversation to a topic Josie’s proficient in. “Tell me more about flowers.” 

-

It’s roughly one in the morning when they retire to Hope’s bed. She had to clean beforehand, her room still in disarray after her _minor_ breakdown that morning. She frowns when she picks up the painting she threw; it was still in its beginning stages, but even then, it meant a lot to her. All of her art does. 

It was of the night she met Josie. 

The girl aforementioned burrows under the comforter a little too close to Hope, causing her to scoot to the edge of the bed and turn her back to the younger girl. 

A whine that reminds Hope of a puppy comes from behind her. She ignores the noise and opens her phone to check her notifications. At around seven, Penelope texted her that she was coming over tomorrow for their usual Sunday hangout, and a little after that, Landon texted her something about a-

Crime syndicate?

As she reads over his messages, her heart begins to plummet in her chest. There have been numerous signs of organized crime groups within Mystic Falls, ranging from illegal drug selling to underground fight clubs to firearm trafficking. 

Landon sent her theories and several different news reports. He even goes as far to mention Alaric Saltzman’s death. Sheriff Machado made a handful of statements concerning the rise in crime. As she scrolls through, there are a handful of names listed, none of which she recognizes. 

This adds to yet another reason as to why she shouldn’t walk alone at night. 

Deciding she’ll push this off to another day, like she does with most things, she promises herself that she’ll call Landon about it tomorrow. But for now, she’ll wrap the blankets tighter around her body and sleep-

“Hopey?”

Hope hums in response, not bothering to turn around. 

“Is the door locked?” Josie asks shyly, like she’s afraid to ask.

This causes Hope to turn around, looking at the taller girl with curious eyes. She didn’t ask about this the other nights, and the last time she locked her room door was before her mom died. Now she just keeps it unlocked. 

“The front and back door is locked, but not my room,” she tells her, worried about what Josie is anxious for. “Why are you asking?”

Josie shrugs, looking impossibly smaller. “I don’t want him to come in.”

“Who?”

Josie swallows thickly, looking away from Hope’s piercing blue eyes. “I cannot. I cannot say. He will find out. He always finds out.”

Hope frowns the slightest. “No one’s going to hurt you here.” She reaches over, tucking a piece of hair behind Josie’s ear. “I pinky promise.”

“What pinky promise?” Josie asks, irises gleaming the slightest. She always feels like she’s inventing something when she’s with Hope. The older girl knows many secrets of the universe that she wants to know too.

“Well,” Hope grabs one of Josie’s hands, folding in all of her fingers but the last one. “We link our pinkies together and make a promise.”

Their pinkies intertwine, hooking around each other. Josie already feels the importance of this, like what they’re doing has an affect on all of the world.

If she focuses hard enough, she can feel Hope’s _energy_ flowing out of her and connecting with Josie’s. 

It feels something akin to magic.

“What are we promising?” Josie shuffles closer and Hope doesn’t push her away for once.

“I’m promising that while you’re with me, no one is going to hurt you,” Hope swears, looking at Josie with the utmost care. 

Josie swallows, not knowing what to say. “What am I promising then?”

“You don’t have to promise anything,” Hope laughs at her, amused by this mocha-eyed girl who is so pure and amiable. “You just have to accept the promise.”

“That is boring.” Josie pouts. She wants to feel like she’s saying a magic promise too. One that will bear the weight of the world and mean everything to the both of them. 

Hope shrugs, a smile curved into her lips. “Make a promise then, too.”

Josie hums for a minute, genuinely contemplating her words. 

“I promise to teach you flowers,” Josie states and Hope giggles, not at all surprised by the brunette’s words.

Hope kisses her thumb, watching as Josie curiously does the same. “That’s how you pinkie promise,” she finishes with a final whisper. 

“Jellyfish?” Josie holds out her fist after, wanting to practice what Hope taught her yesterday with MG.

Hope smiles and pretends to fist bump her, but at the last second, she opens her palm and says, “Turkey.”

Josie repeats the word to herself and touches her fist to her other palm. 

“My jellyfish is better,” she deadpans.

Hope pushes her away with a heavy laugh, so she’s no longer left on the edge of the bed. Upset at the space, Josie shuffles over to curl into Hope.

She stiffens at their proximity, still not quite used to them being so close. Josie rearranges her limbs because Hope is as rigid as a board under her. 

“Do you like cuddling?” Hope asks as if it isn’t the most obvious question in the world.

“Yeah, Lizzie holds me while I sleep,” Josie yawns into Hope’s shoulder. “It’s so no one hurts me.”

Somehow, Hope feels like she wasn’t supposed to know this piece of information.

“Has anybody?” Hope asks. “Hurt you in your sleep, I mean.”

Josie is quiet, purposely holding in her breath to remain silent. 

Hope takes that as answer enough. 

“Tell me about flowers,” Hope asks a final request.

“An iris means hope,” Josie murmurs, being lulled to sleep by the sound of Hope’s heartbeat. “And I think the fluer- the, ur, uhm the fluer-de-”

“Fleur-de-lis?” Hope guesses with a perfect French accent.

“How did you know?” Josie asks in awe, looking up at Hope with wide eyes. “Hopey, are you inside my head?”

Hope snorts, wrapping an arm around Josie and playing with her hair. “No, but I am taking my fourth year of French. And in New Orleans, there’s this place called the French Quarter. My family on my father’s side have lived there for centuries.”

“The thingy you said-” another yawn. “It was created after the iris.”

Hope frowns, knowing the translation to be different. “Fleur-de-lis loosely means lily flower, which is different from the iris, right?”

“They are different,” she nods once. “Lilies have many different meanings.”

“What do lilies represent?” Hope is on the cusp of falling asleep, but if she had the ability to suspend time, she would freeze it right in this moment, giving the two of them all the time in the world. 

“I will tell you, but,” she pauses for added effect, “tell me something in French.”

Hope thinks of a million words, almost going with something silly before deciding on a small confession. “Je ne veux pas que tu partiez.”

“Your voice is pretty.” Josie sinks further into Hope, falling asleep. 

Hope doesn’t miss a beat. “You’re pretty.”

Scarlet blooms across the planes of her cheeks, and she decides she really needs sleep. 

“Some lilies can mean purity, or well, uhm, fertile.”

_They’re also the lesbian of all flowers,_ Hope thinks, her lips curling at the thought. She thinks that’s one of the only scenes she remembers from Glee.

With a final rasp, Hope says, “Good morning, goodnight.”

“G’morning, g’night, Hopey.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter! What are your thoughts? Anyone have any theories of what's to come?
> 
> Your comments mean a lot, thank you. <3
> 
> @_halcyone on twitter, feel free to dm me.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw// abuse , sleep paralysis

Josie tries to cry out, but her voice isn’t working, barely creating a sound. She tries to move, but even lifting a finger is impossible. She desperately tries to move her arms, but they feel like they’re buried under a billion pounds of wet sand, cemented to the spot. 

And he’s standing in the corner. 

He’s looking at her with the same creased brows and curled back lip. 

_Please,_ Josie thinks to herself. _Please, no!_

She’s barely aware of the person beside her in bed.

God why aren’t they helping her!

Her heart is beating out of her chest, violently pounding as if that will send a signal for help. Her lips are barely moving, barely exhaling any noise as she tries to _scream_ out. 

He’s still there. Sharp lines. Dark shadows. A tongue deadlier than monkshood. Hands tougher than boulders. Fists prepared to rain heavy blows. 

“ _I’ll kill you!_ ” His voice thunders in her head, beats against her skull.

A shrill piercing _shriek_.

Her body finally moves, pushing itself up against the headboard of the bed. 

He’s gone. _He’s gone_.

“Josie.” There’s a pressure on her shoulder. She flinches away.

She can’t breathe properly, struggling as her lungs try to force oxygen into her. Sweat is slick against her forehead, and she’s still frantically looking around for him. 

“Hey, you’re okay. You’re with me.” The words are muddled, traveling through layers of gunk. 

Warmth spreads across her cheek, unlike the sharp pain that flushes through her skin when _he_ touches her. 

“It’s me, it’s Hopey. You’re at my house. You’re okay.” There’s another hand on her cheek, gently coaxing her to turn to her side. 

Hope’s worried gaze is running all over her face, and Josie hates the sight of it, only ever wanting her to be happy and giggling freely. 

Josie tugs Hope’s hands away from her face, instead opting to rest her head on the older girl’s chest. She listens to the much calmer heartbeat, soothing her frazzled state of mind.

Her thoughts are trouble, playing all of her memories in a loop. He flashes through her mind, striking her over and _over_. She can’t will away the images so heavily ingrained into her brain, and all of her muscles fold into each other, struggling to protect her.

“My body did not move,” she mumbles, inhaling the shampoo she can still smell from Hope. “I could not speak.”

“It might’ve been sleep paralysis,” Hope guesses, rubbing consoling circles into her back. “Has this ever happened to you?” 

“No.” 

Josie remains silent for the next hour, trapping Hope to the bed and listening to her breathe. She doesn’t like thinking about him, associating every bad memory with light brown hair and stormy blue eyes. It makes her physically sick, like the back of her throat is always ready to retch. 

It isn’t until Hope complains about losing circulation in her arm two hours later that they finally decide to go downstairs and eat. Josie sits on the kitchen island and watches Hope cook them pancakes. 

At one point, Josie sticks her finger into the bowl of batter, tasting the creamy substance. She dips her finger into the bowl once more, Hope’s back still turned to her, Josie slathers the batter onto the blue-eyed girl’s cheek. 

Hope gasps, turning around and wiping clean her face. “Oh, this is war.”

Josie squeaks, rushing to the other side of the kitchen island. “Wait! We can talk. We can talk.”

Hope smirks, flinging batter with a whisk and covering Josie in it. Another squeal escapes her lips before she wipes the liquid from her face and reaches for the egg carton. Hope goes to duck behind a counter, but she’s too slow, taking a hard hit to the shoulder as yolk splatters over her. 

Josie laughs in victory, but her celebration is too early because Hope grabs the flour bag and rushes after the brunette. They chase each other in circles, until Hope finally dumps the bag onto Josie, enshrouding her in white clouds of powder. Josie wipes excess flour from her face, spluttering it from her mouth. 

Hope is howling at the sight, bent over as she wheezes for air. Her whole body is shaking as joy rakes through her. She barely looks up at the last second to witness whip cream being sprayed onto her head. Josie giggles smugly as she tries to run away, but Hope wraps her arms around her waist, spinning them in circles as the younger girl squeals helplessly. 

“Put me down!” Josie giggles sweetly, and Hope does as she’s told, placing her back on her feet.

There’s a moment of silence that ensues as they stare at each other. They’re both a mess, heavily doused with several different pancake ingredients. Josie can’t care less because Hope is being carefree with her, and it’s refreshing to see the older girl not closed off. 

Until Hope’s walls go back up and the smile slips off her face. “We should go clean up,” she says with the smallest of frowns. “I’ll finish breakfast, and you can shower in my room.”

Josie wants to say no, wants to protest and stay down here with Hope. But Josie always does as she’s told because if she slips up, pain always ensues. She doesn’t think Hope will hurt her per se, but if she isn’t careful, the blue-eyed girl might lash out again.

As Josie scuttles up the stairs, attempting not to get flour all over the stairs, Hope is left once more to clean up another mess. Unfortunately, Hope knows she has to call CPS today, but she’s grown a little attached to the naive brunette. So today, she’s resolute to stack all of her walls, assuring that the younger girl won’t break through it. 

She also has a handful of things to do today, like pick up her car, call Landon about whatever mess he’s found online, and call Aunt Freya. Homework is also on that list somewhere, but writing a research paper for her government class sounds depressing.

She barely finishes cooking breakfast and cleaning the kitchen when her doorbell chimes, echoing through her entire house. Her clothes are still a mess and it’s highly likely that her hair still has eggs sticking to it. She contemplated quickly changing, but whoever is at the door won’t stop ringing the doorbell.

Hope quickly peeks through the peephole, and her stomach plummets when she sees Maya standing there with her arms crossed. She feigns annoyance when she opens the door, greeting her with, “You only need to ring once, you know.” 

Maya rolls her eyes, but Hope doesn’t let her inside, instead opting to talk on her porch. “So? Have you called CPS? You promised to do it yesterday.”

Hope lies straight to her face. “I did.” 

Maya's voice raises, eyes narrowing as she catches her in a lie, “Oh yeah? Then why didn’t you let me inside your house?”

Hope desperately grasps for an answer. “It smells heavily of weed, and I know how you feel about pot.”

“I’m a year clean,” Maya raises a brow, pupils constricted. “I won’t pick up a joint at the smell of marijuana.”

“I wanted fresh air.” Hope shrugs, casually wiping the whipped cream from her hair. 

“Don’t lie to me!” Her friend shouts, throwing her arms into the air. Maya is more than frustrated with her because it’s highly irresponsible and bluntly, dumb, to keep Josie at her house. 

“What do you expect me to do, Maya! I’m an eighteen-year-old girl who doesn’t have parents!” Her voice cracks, throat raw with the weight of her words. “I’m still a kid! I can’t even buy alcohol!”

“I expect you to do better! You may be parentless, but you still have a family, Hope!” Maya stresses, determined to get through to her. “People who care about you! But you’ve pushed them away and mope around in a lonely house.”

Maya struck several nerves within minutes, catching Hope off guard and choking her up with emotions she’s desperately tried to bury this past year. 

“ _Don’t_ bring my family into this.” Hope’s voice is lethal, tongue sharper than knives.

“ _You_ brought them up first.” Maya returns the hostility, upset with her friend’s lack of responsibility. “Josie needs help. She needs to return to school, needs to return to her own friends. She needs to live her life, not stay holed up in a lonely house.”

Hope’s chest clogs with agitation, and her lungs are ready to breathe out _fury_. But she deflates at the pleading look in her friend’s eyes. 

“I know,” she exhales softly. “I got mad at her yesterday. She painted over one of my portraits, and I had a breakdown. I wasn’t in the right state of mind to talk to social workers.”

Maya’s demeanor grows delicate as she sighs. “You’re not alone, but your loneliness can be contagious. Josie probably has a family that’s waiting for her. You have a family that’s waiting for you.”

Hope shakes her head, stepping back. “No. _No._ My family died the night that drunk driver got into their car.”

Maya has no right to talk to her about family. No right. The Mikaelsons only showed up the moment her mom died. If they really cared for her, in the ways they swore they do, then she would’ve known them long before she comprehended the notion of family. 

“Hope,” Maya tries to placate her, but she’s not having it. 

“Look, I know- I know that family means everything to you.” Hope’s composure is long gone, leaving her shaking and on the brink of another breakdown. “You didn’t have one in the foster care system, but then Sheriff Machado adopted you and everything fell into place. Family doesn’t have the same meaning to me. For god's sake, my father didn’t even visit me in the five months that I was miserable in New Orleans. I thought he was dead, but Elijah was the only one to have enough respect for me to tell me to my face that he’s still alive.”

“I didn’t know.”

“I know you don’t,” Hope bites out before she reigns in her hurt. “There’s a reason I don’t talk about New Orleans.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” Hope asks, a little hesitant, thinking she’d have to argue more.

“Yeah, I’m sorry,” Maya relents, sitting on the stairs of her porch. “Family is a sensitive topic. You do what you can to cope. I don’t understand how they make you feel or why you won’t let them in, but Pen made a point, I should be there for you.”

“So that’s it?” Hope eases, sitting next to Maya.

“Obviously not because Josie is still inside the house,” Maya snorts, effectively breaking through all the tension from earlier. “I have half a mind to tell my mom, but I won’t.”

“Why not?” Hope questions her friend, tilting her head the slightest.

Maya shrugs. “It feels wrong to tattle on my friends to my mom.”

Hope sighs, leaning her head on Maya. They’re quick to fight but quick to make up too, hating to hold grudges for longer than a day. 

“Thank you,” she whispers. Whip cream is drying on her, and she cringes at the feeling, opting to ignore it for now. 

“For what?”

“For telling me the truth,” she replies, biting her lip. Not many tell her the truth. They dance around it and keep their secrets. She finds herself doing it often, so it’s refreshing when someone says it to her face. “Even when I don’t want to hear it.”

“Yeah, well, someone’s gotta knock you down a few pegs.” Maya shoves her, sticking out her tongue teasingly. “But god, do you have gum?”

“I do. Are you having a craving?”

“Yeah, you stress me out too much, Hope.”

-

Maya leaves shortly after, wanting alone time with Penelope before they come back again in the afternoon. Hope is glad that Maya has someone to go to when things get particularly rough, that she can collapse into the warmth of someone who cares for her. She wishes all of her friends have that luxury, but unfortunately, the world is far too cruel to grant everyone that privilege.

Breakfast is enshrouded by an awkward silence. Hope brushes off any attempt Josie makes at conversing, and she knows it’s upsetting the brunette. It physically hurts the blue-eyed girl to do it, so she scarfs down her food and hides in her room. 

She tries to convince herself that this is for their own good because, after today, they won’t know of each other’s existence. Josie will be taken away, sent to her family who she likely ran away from in the first place. 

Hope will be left to resume her life of monotonous high school. She’ll go to volleyball practices and games, never playing herself. She’ll drown under years of homework that will be pushed off until the last second. She’ll continue to paint the memories of her mother. 

It’ll be like she never met Josie Parker in the first place. 

All thoughts of the mocha eyed girl will be tucked away in the far recesses of her mind, never to be brought to the forefront. No knowledge of flowers. No recollections of jellyfish and pinkie promises. Not a single clue of what chains of necklaces represent. Never seeing someone dance in the rain.

They’ll be two separate entities. No longer Hopey and Josie.

With Josie’s lack of memories and understanding of the world, she’ll likely forget her anyway. 

And she supposes she’ll have to be okay with that. 

It isn’t until after she’s showered and changed that she gets around to calling Landon. He picks up not even five seconds into the call, speaking gruffly, “Good morning, what’s up?”

In the background, Hope can hear, “Wait! Who is it? I wanna know who!”

There’s shuffling, like Landon is shooing away whoever that was. “Sorry, Pedro is with me. Hector let us go to the park for once.”

“Aw, tell him hi for me,” Hope smiles, swiveling around in her desk chair. The first time she saw Pedro was also the last time. On the rare occasions that Hector and Maria do allow visitors, Hope had watched cartoons with Pedro and Landon. The young boy constantly asked a lot of questions, but he was funny in a naive way. He was also incredibly kind for a kid his age. 

“No can do.” Hope can practically see his frown. “He’ll want to talk, and I have to pay ten cents extra for every minute we call.”

“Lan, that’s only six dollars an hour.”

“And? I have other expenses to pay for.”

“Right, sorry,” Hope swallows thickly, mentally slapping herself for being insensitive. She practically has money to throw away, and some of her friends can barely afford dinner. “Uhm, what you mentioned last night, about the crime syndicates. What was that all about?”

“There have been reports happening for the past twenty years,” Landon rushes out, almost _excited_ by the idea. “Incidents of turf wars and money laundering. There’s underground fight clubs and sex-trafficking rings.”

“What?” Hope is unsettled, stomach churning at the thought. “Why hasn’t there been more media coverage on this?”

“People care more about celebrities than they do about real-life problems,” Landon scoffs, and she can tell he’s shaking his head at society. “The minimal publicity it does receive is clouded by the lack of witnesses. Not many people are concerned for it because they don’t think it’s real.”

“That’s… what? Why are more people aware of it now?” She paces the room, picking at the skin of her lips. “The news links you sent were recent.”

“Because the murder of Alaric Saltzman was suspected to be first degree,” he states, sighing into his phone. Hope’s spine twitches at the sudden ASMR. “The home invasion was just a ruse.”

“You’re telling me a middle-aged principal of a private school was purposely murdered? And it has something to do with crime syndicates.” Hope picks apart his implications, shaking her head. “That literally makes no sense.”

“But it does make sense,” Landon insists, sharing even more details. “Alaric had several allegations against him, but all were dropped and discredited by the former sheriff and now present mayor, Matthew Donovan.”

“What? So you think the mayor and him were in collusion?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“You’ve completely lost it.”

“I’m serious!” he contends, trying to piece together the story so Hope can understand. “His daughter Elizabeth is nowhere to be found, but she can definitely attest to all of this.”

Hope is at a loss for words, never witnessing Landon be passionate about something aside from the Lord of the Rings franchise. “Conspiracy theories will get you killed. I have to go.”

“Wait-”

Hope hangs up the call, throwing her phone onto her desk. 

God, what has she gotten herself into?

-

Instead of calling CPS, Hope texted MG to take her to the mechanic. MG was out of it, barely talking to her, never really looking it at her. He didn’t even bother to blast his music. 

Hope knew something was wrong. MG never liked the silence. He would fill it with conversation, with music, with humming, with anything really. 

Although, she supposed it could have been a depressive episode, in which case she felt terrible for asking for a favor. His “kryptonite days” as he likes to call them last several days, but they’re fortunately rare in occurrence. He usually stays at home when they happen, so again, guilt wracked through her for asking him to drop her off. 

He left her with a fake smile and an empty goodbye. 

She’ll bring him an issue of Marvel Zombies and bring some ice cream in a few days. For now, she’ll give him his space. Being smothered when your brain is overwhelmed, or underwhelmed always leads to negative reactions.

When Hope isn’t in the mood, she’ll tear into anyone, no matter how close they are. 

Once she’s home, Hope tries to sneak past the living room and up the stairs, but Josie calls out to her from the couch, “Hopey, is that you?”

“Yeah, I’m just going to go upstairs and do homework,” Hope says, already turning back to the stairs.

“You are hiding, why?” Josie asks, peeking up from the couch. 

“I’m not,” Hope snaps, upset at being called out. 

Josie pouts as her body pushes further into the couch, thinking she’s in danger. At the sight, Hope forces herself to calm down. “Did I do something wrong?” Josie mumbles, barely looking at her, too frightened. 

“No, you… No,” Hope answers, shaking her head. “I’ve just been busy, okay?”

“Watch something with me?” She requests timidly, a hopeful look in her eye. 

Hope knows she should refuse, tell the younger girl no and scurry back upstairs as she psyches herself up to make a simple phone call. Instead, she shuffles to the couch and sits on the opposite end. She knows Josie is discontent with the distance, but it goes ignored as Hope grabs the remote and turns on her cable. 

The news channel is broadcasting, and she’s quick to click away, ready to find the CW.

But she does a double-take. 

Returning to the previous channel, there’s a missing person’s report circulating local media outlets. 

Mocha irises. 

Brunette waves.

Small slit on the brow. 

Button nose.

Helix piercings.

Josie Parker is enlarged on her television screen while a news anchor monotonously shares her story. 

“Police in Albermarle County are searching for a missing seventeen-year-old who was last seen Thursday afternoon,” they announced, not an ounce of compassion in their voice, completely desensitized. “According to Salvatore Boarding School, Josie Parker was absent from class on Friday, ruining her perfect attendance record. Furthermore, the Mystic Falls Therapy Center confirmed that Parker missed her Saturday evening session. When her phone was pinged for a location, it was found on the outskirts of Route 29, according to the sheriff’s office.”

Hope can’t tear her eyes away, forcing herself to carefully listen to every word stated. She swallows thickly, knowing the brunette beside her is confused by why she’s being displayed. 

“She is described as 5’8”, 120-130 pounds, with dark brown hair and brown eyes,” the reporter continues, a billion thoughts cycling through Hope’s head at once. “If you have seen her or have any information on her whereabouts, you’re asked to contact Mystic Falls police at 434-987-4463.”

The number is shown in bold print at the bottom, and Hope quickly pulls out her phone, snapping a picture of the ten digit sequence. 

As the news moves onto a different topic, Hope flicks the television to a different channel and leaves to her front porch. Josie calls out, confused by the older girl’s sudden shift in demeanor, but Hope ignores it. 

Hope hates phone calls with strangers. They annoy her because it always feels as if the person on the other end of the line has no clue of what they’re supposed to be doing. As she picks at the paint on the wooden railing, she notifies the police department that she’s found Josie Parker who is currently at her house, promptly listing off her address. 

She reminds herself that she has to do this, that it’s imperative to Josie’s wellbeing. 

She recites in her thoughts that the brunette has friends to return to and that she still needs to attend school. 

After the police dispatcher informs her that officers will be on their way, Hope ends the call and finds that Landon is already blowing up her phone, more theories being sent her way. He’s telling her that it can’t be a coincidence that Josie Parker went missing the same week Elizabeth Saltzman disappeared and Alaric Saltzman was murdered. 

He still doesn’t know that Josie had been staying with her for the past few days. She briefly wonders why Rafael hadn’t told him, or maybe he simply didn’t feel like it was his place to tell. 

Hope sighs, knowing she isn’t prepared for the confrontation to come. 

-

Hope’s hands are shaking, and her voice feels caught in her throat. 

Two officers and an investigator are standing before her on the porch, intimidating in their uniforms as they frown at her. She pretends she’s much older which helps minutely to fight off any sense of foreboding that settles in the pit of her stomach. 

The investigator is bombarding her with questions, some of which have nothing to do with her interactions with Josie. She vaguely remembers him introducing himself as Phil Kings- Kingsley? Kingsman? In her head, she calls the other two by Unibrow and Buttchin. 

“Ms. Mikaelson, why have you been harboring a missing person in your house?” 

Every single one of Hope’s defenses rises, hairs standing on end. The phrasing on the question appears as if he’s trying to pin Josie’s disappearance on her. 

Narrowing her gaze on Kingshit, she grits out, “I’ve been _caring_ for Ms. Parker, seeing as she was disorientated and hungry the day I found her. I was unaware of the missing report put out for her until today, and if I was ‘harboring’ her, it would be counterintuitive to call you here.”

Kingshit hums, tapping a pen to his beard before scribbling something down on a notepad. “Are you the only resident of this household? Any adults present?” 

Hope’s glare intensifies, imagining wacking the investigator with a frying pan. She feels threatened standing before three adult men who seem unconcerned for the girl they were sent to retrieve. 

“I don’t see how any personal information aids your investigation, sir,” Hope spits out, hostility evident. “I found Ms. Parker and cared for her.”

“Mmhmm.” He brushes off her words, uncaring for her opinion on the matter. “How can you afford the house? Students can only work part-time, and the current minimum wage salary certainly can’t cover its cost.” 

She flexes her jaw, nose flaring. “Again, sir, I see no reason to answer.” 

“Right, right,” Kingshit nods to himself, writing something down once more as if he’s connected the dots. “You have an expensive luxury car in the driveway. Is it yours?”

Growing increasingly frustrated, Hope crosses her arms. “Sir, do you even care for Ms. Parker being found?”

Unibrow and Buttchin eye her warily, skeptical as to why she’s avoiding every question thrown her way. She raises an eyebrow, pinning them with a harsh gaze. 

It’s for Josie’s own safety, she reminds herself.

“I think I’ve asked all the questions necessary.” Kingshit smiles, almost smirking, and Hope is unnerved by the facial expression. “May we please be directed to Ms. Parker.” 

Hope fakes a smile before leading them inside the house where the investigator closely scrutinizes her decor. Peeking around a corner from the foyer, she finds Josie still sitting in front of the tv and calls out to her, “Josie, can you come here?”

Noticing three strangers, Josie apprehensively walks to them, standing behind Hope for comfort. 

“Hello Ms. Parker,” Kingshit greets, his smile still chilling Hope to the bone. “I’m Phil Kingslott and with me are officers Moreberry and Hassan. We’re here to bring you back home.”

Josie immediately grows rigid, stepping back as fear and distrust clouds her vision. She shakes her head adamantly, and Hope desperately wants to comfort her. Ignoring the desire, it suddenly hits the ocean-eyed girl that there isn’t a social worker present, and she assumes that there’s supposed to be one here. 

“I-I don’t,” Josie swallows, pulling at the back of Hope’s shirt and using her body as a shield. “No home. I do not have home. I am… I do not have home.”

Hope is met with piercing stares, feeling as if all three of them are looking right through her and reading her every thought. Unibrow takes a threatening step forward, appearing as if he’s simply going to pry Josie off of her. Instead of letting that happen, she sharply turns, grasping one of Josie’s wrists and massaging her thumb into her veins. 

“Josie, you’ll be okay, you’ll be okay,” she repeats more for herself than anything, “But you have to go with them.”

“I-” Josie stumbles over her vowels once more. “Do- Do not want. Will n-not go.” 

“Please,” Hope breathes out, begging the brunette with misty eyes. “You have to.”

Josie doesn’t calm down, instead working herself up further. Releasing herself from Hope, she’s on the verge of an outburst. She doesn’t understand why these people are here, and she doesn’t know why Hope is letting them take her. 

It’s giving her a headache. 

Then Unibrow is surging forward, seizing Josie by her upper arms and practically dragging her through the foyer to the door. All Hope hears is wailing, her entire body locked in place. Her entire mouth is withered, and she can barely breathe. 

The words Hope promised the night before. She feels guilty for saying them. She feels completely and utterly sick to her stomach because she promised.

Josie was already in a funk after her sleep paralysis this morning, but with the added stress of leaving, it shreds through her and causes her to lash out.

“No, HOPE! Do not- Please! They cannot- cannot take me!”

She’s struggling against the officers who have a hold on her.

Hope vaguely hears Kingshit trying to placate her, that this reaction is natural and normal.

“Please! Hope!”

Hope almost reaches out, almost pulls her back into her body. Her fingers twitch, and her knees tense as they prepare to move.

But then the front door is opening, and they’re leading Josie out.

“You p- you pinkie promised, Hopey!” Josie sobs roughly. 

Hope’s throat tightens, and all her bones grow rigid. She chokes back a sob of her own as her heart throbs in her chest. 

She’s beginning to doubt her decision.

Why does her whole body burn?

“You promised!” A final sob.

The door closes.

Hope collapses. 

Her entire chest shaking with the force of her weeping. 

She doesn’t know why she’s crying over a stranger. This shouldn’t affect her as much as it does. Josie will be in safe hands. 

Fuck, what were their badge numbers? She thinks Buttchin’s might’ve started with 20. What were their names? Phil Kingslott and- and… 

Hope frustratedly rubs the tears from her eyes. She’s pathetic, crying on the floor for some person she barely knew. But she can’t scrub the memories from her brain nonetheless because she remembers that Josie loves Mulan and can sing most of the Tangled soundtrack and gets excited by the mere thought of flower shops. 

She doesn’t know how long she spends on the floor, hugging her knees to her chest as she replays Josie screaming at her for help in her head. Her phone vibrates in her pocket, but she disregards it, unable to crawl out of her mental spiral. Penelope bangs on her front door minutes later, shouting, “Hope, we’re here!”

All Hope sees is Josie being dragged out the doorway. 

“Babe,” Maya’s voice is muffled through the door, barely falling into Hope’s ears. “Which pot is the spare key under again?”

It doesn’t take them long to find it and open the door, but when they do, they’re surprised by the sight of their shorter friend curled up on the floor, face flushed. 

Penelope kneels before her, lifting her head from the floor and asking what’s wrong. Hope doesn’t answer her, she can’t, so she shrugs her shoulders in response. She shouldn’t be emotional over a stranger she reminds herself.

“Does this have to do with Josie?” Maya asks softly, biting her lip. “I’m a little worried because my mom messaged me about you. Something about you being suspected of money laundering…?” 

Hope sits up at that, shaking her head and massaging her temples. “The stupid investigator,” she starts, her throat hoarse, “he was asking all of these invasive questions. He wanted to know how I could afford the house and my car.” 

Her mom’s will left her with a small fortune, and on top of that, the Mikaelsons pay all of the house bills; she suspects it’s their way of sending their condolences for her mother’s death. The car definitely was an added apology. 

“The gang unit has been on high alert since word of crime syndicates have been spreading,” Maya informs with a sigh. “They’re putting a lot of pressure on my mom.”

Penelope bumps their shoulders, flicking Maya’s nose before she can fall into a stressed state of mind. 

“So she’s gone?” Maya asks, and Hope expected her to be proud, yet she’s frowning. 

“Yeah, they had to drag her away.” 

It’s quiet for a moment as her friends process that piece of information. 

“Come on.” Penelope stands, wiggling her fingers as she reaches for Hope and Maya. “We can watch Charlie’s Angels, and I’ll order famous bowls from KFC.”

Her friends manage to coax her to the living room couch, and they let her stretch across their laps, hogging all of the blankets. Maya and Penelope crack as many jokes as they can, attempting to lift Hope’s spirits. It works for a few minutes before she’s pulling out her phone, opening social media. 

She types Josie Parker into the search bar, finding a locked Twitter account. The bio reads: Queens II by Nikita Gill. Hope frowns when she reads the location which is labeled “hell.”

Finding her Instagram, Hope is surprised to see that it’s not locked. There are a handful of pictures, mostly of flowers or Josie standing in front of them. The most recent photo is from back in June, and the mocha-eyed girl is hugging some blonde girl. It’s a miracle that the girl is tagged, and when she clicks on the account, Jade McAllister is posing seductively with only fierce confidence to share. 

The last photo she posted with Josie was in July, and they were posing in front of a picture of Hozier, at one of his concerts. 

Hope follows Jade on Instagram, and she types up a quick message, dming her: hey, can we talk? it’s about josie

She sends it before she can rethink the decision, and opening her browser, she looks up Queens II. 

_Listen to me, girl: you have castles inside your bones, coronets in your heart. If he threatens you with battle, you raise him a whole war. The last time I checked, queens cower before no man._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next few chapters will have less Hosie content mainly because they're separated, and Hope is digging around into Josie's past.
> 
> How do you feel about the chapter? Ready for me not to update for another two months? :)
> 
> @_halcyone on twitter, yes I did change my username <3

**Author's Note:**

> this has been sitting in my drafts for a while. tell me if you like it!
> 
> @_halcyone on twitter <3


End file.
